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The Rainbow Bridge 


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BOOKS BY 

FRANCES MARGARET FOX 


WHAT GLADYS SAW. A Nature Story of 
Farm and Forest. With full page illustration. 
Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price, 1.25. 

THE RAINBOW BRIDGE. A Story. With 
full page colored frontispiece. Containing 254 
pages. Cloth bound. Price, $ 1 . 2 ^. 





MRS, MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE 


The Rainbow Bridge 

A Story 


By 


FRANCES MARGARET FOX 

Author of “ What Gladys Sazaf Farmer 
Brown and the Birds f etc. 


Illustrated by 

FRANK T. MERRILL 



> 5^5 

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W. A. WILDE COMPANY 

BOSTON CHICAGO 


Two i>0PJi3s rtetrtvwi 


OCT. 4 ia06 

JolWiieni 
CO. / <• . / 9 ^ ^ dT 

43 r 

iJCPT ?i. 



Copyright, igoj 
By W. a. Wilde Company 
j 4// rights reserved 


The Rainbow Bridge 


i 

|S: 


To 

the dear friend of my childhood 
and later years 
Mrs. William W. Crouch 


Contents 


I. 

A Little Pilgrim Begins a Journey . 

1 1 

II. 

Marian's First Day in School . 

19 

III. 

She Goes to Church .... 

27 

IV. 

Aunt Amelia 

40 

V. 

Marian's New Home .... 

48 

VI. 

That Yellow Cucumber . 

58 

VII. 

An Undeserving Child 

66 

VIII. 

In the Name of Santa Claus . 

73 

IX. 

At the Rich Man’s Table 

83 

X. 

A Game of Sliced Birds . 

94 

XI. 

The Way of the Transgressor 

105 

XII. 

Marian’s Diary 

127 

XIII. 

Diphtheria 

146 

XIV. 

Musical Conversations 

163 

XV. 

Little Sister to the Dandelion 

173 

XVI. 

Professor Lee, Botanist . 

185 

XVII. 

The Composition on Wild P'lowers . 

192 

XVIII. 

Marian’s Letter Home 

199 

XIX. 

The Most Truthful Child in School 

204 

XX. 

More Changes 

215 

XXL 

Marian Remembers Her Diary 

220 

XXII. 

Florence Weston’s Mother 

231 

XXIII. 

How Marian Crossed the Rainbow 



Bridge 

241 



















The Rainbow Bridge 


CHAPTER I 

A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY 

There was always room for one more in 
the Home for Little Pilgrims. Especially was 
this true of the nursery ; not because the nur- 
sery was so large, nor because there was the 
least danger that the calico cats might be 
lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It 
made no difference to her whether the wee 
strangers were white or black, bright or stupid, 
she treated them all alike. They were dressed, 
undressed, bathed, fed and put to sleep at ex- 
actly the same hours every day, that is, they 
were laid in their cribs whenever it was time 
for them to go to sleep. Little Pilgrims were 
never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for 
lullaby songs, whatever may have been her 
inclination. 

U 


12 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore 
rocked a baby before the nursery fire and sung 
to it all the songs she knew. That was the 
night Marian Lee entered the Home with 
bright eyes wide open. She not only had 
her eyes open when she was placed in Mrs. 
Moore’s arms, but she kept them open and 
somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her 
own rules and do as she had never done with 
a new baby. 

To be sure, Marian Lee couldn’t talk, having 
started on her pilgrimage only six months be- 
fore, but in a way of her own, she declared 
herself well pleased with the Home and with 
the nursery in particular. She enjoyed her 
bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate 
pleased her and Mrs. Moore’s face was lovely, 
if a baby’s ideas were of any account. The 
trouble began when Marian was carried into 
the still room where the sleeping Pilgrims 
were, and placed in a crib. The minute her 
head touched the pillow she began to cry. 
When Mrs. Moore left her, she cried louder. 
That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib 
and when he began to wail, Bennie and 


A LITTLE PILGEIM BEGINS A JOIJENEY 13 

Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half a 
dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to 
be outdone by these older Pilgrims, Marian 
screamed louder than any of them until Mrs. 
Moore took her back to the fire and quiet was 
restored. 

Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore’s 
rules to humor a baby in that fashion, and 
Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added 
in the next breath, “ Poor little dear.” The 
“ poor little dear ” was cooing once more and 
there really seemed nothing to do but kiss, 
and cuddle and rock the baby as her own 
mother might have done. She was so unlike 
the others in the Home ; so soft, round and 
beautiful. 

“You are no ordinary baby, precious one,” 
said Mrs. Moore, whereupon Marian laughed, 
flourished her hands and seemed much pleased. 
“ I think,” continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed 
the pink fists, “ I think some one has talked 
to you a great deal. My babies are different, 
poor little things, they don’t talk back as you 
do.” 

Before long, the rows of white cribs in the 


14 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


other room were forgotten and Mrs. Moore be- 
gan singing to Marian as though she were the 
only baby in the big Home. Lullaby after 
lullaby she sang while the fire burned low, 
yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last, 
Mrs. Moore began a lullaby long unsung : 

“All the little birdies have gone to sleep, 

Why does my pet so wide awake keep ? 

Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep. 

‘All the little babies their prayers have said. 

Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed. 

Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.” 

When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore sud- 
denly realized it was but another Little Pil- 
grim that she held and not her own baby so 
often hushed to sleep by that old lullaby 
many years ago. For the sake of that baby, 
Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little 
ones in the Home — all the unfortunate, neg- 
lected waifs brought to its doors. She had 
loved them impartially until that night. She 
had never before asked who a baby was, nor 
what its surroundings had been. Its future 


A LITTLE PILGEIM BEGINS A JOUBNEY 15 

was her only concern. To care for each baby 
while it was in the nursery and to be sure it 
was placed in a good home when taken away, 
was all she wished to know. No baby had 
ever crept into Mrs. Moore’s innermost heart 
as Marian did that night. An hour later the 
superintendent was surprised when Mrs. Moore 
asked for the history of that latest Little Pil- 
grim. 

“ She’s a fine child,” mused the superin- 
tendent, adding cheerfully, “ we’ll have no 
trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if 
she’s here a month.” 

Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure 
Marian would stay more than a month. 
After she heard the superintendent’s story, 
she was more sure of it. Thus it happened 
that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive, and 
Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable 
babies if such a thing may be, and Sam and 
Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunk- 
ards, as well as a dozen other little waifs, 
were given away long before Marian learned 
to talk : Marian, the beautiful baby, was 
somehow always kept behind Mrs. Moore’s 


16 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


skirts. As the child grew older, she was still 
kept in the background. The plainest dresses 
ever sent in to Little Pilgrims, were given to 
Marian. Her hair was kept short and when 
special visitors were expected, she was taken 
to the playground by an older girl. All this 
time a happier baby never lived than Marian. 
No one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs. 
Moore loved her. No one knew of the ca- 
resses lavished upon her when the infant 
Pilgrims were busy with their blocks or 
asleep in their cribs. 

At last the superintendent questioned Mrs. 
Moore. He said it seemed strange that no 
one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs. 
Moore explained. She told the superintend- 
ent she hoped Marian would be claimed by 
folks of her own, but if not — Mrs. Moore 
hesitated at that and the superintendent 
understood. 

“ We won’t give her away,” he promised, 
“ until we find the right kind of a mother 
for her. That child shall have a good 
home.” 

Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian out- 


A LITTLE PILGEIM BEGINS A JOUENET 17 


grew her crib and went to sleep in the dor- 
mitory. The child was pleased with the 
change, especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her 
in bed and kissed her every night just as she 
had done in the nursery. Marian was glad 
to be no longer a baby. The dormitory with 
its rows and rows of little white beds, de- 
lighted the child, and to be allowed to sit up 
hours after the babies were asleep was pure 

joy- 

The dining-room was another pleasure. To 
sit down to dinner with two hundred little 
girls and boys and to be given one of the two 
hundred bright bibs, filled her heart with 
pride. The bibs certainly were an attrac- 
tion. Marian was glad hers was pink. She 
buttoned it to her chair after dinner just as 
she saw the others do. 

One thing troubled Marian. She wished 
Mrs. Moore to sit at the table beside her and 
drink milk from a big, white mug. “ Do 
childrens always have dinner all alone?” 
she asked. 

Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore 
told her to run away and play. Then she 


18 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


looked out of the window for a long, long time. 
Perhaps she had done wrong after all in keep- 
ing the baby so long in a “ Home with a 
capital H.” 


CHAPTER II 


Marian’s first day in school 

There was no kindergarten in the Home 
for Little Pilgrims when Marian was a baby. 
The child was scarcely five when she marched 
into the schoolroom to join the changing ranks 
of little folks who were such a puzzle to their 
teacher. Every day one or more new faces 
appeared in that schoolroom and every day 
familiar faces were gone. For that reason 
alone it was a hard school to manage. 

The teacher, who had been many years in 
the Home, smiled as she found a seat for 
Marian in the front row. Marian at least 
might be depended upon to come regularly to 
school : then, too, she would learn easily and 
be a credit to her instructor. Plain dresses 
and short hair might do their worst, the face 
of the child attracted attention. The teacher 
smiled again as Marian sat in the front seat 
before her, with hands folded, waiting to see 
what might happen next. 

19 


20 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


Roll call interested the child. She won- 
dered why the little girls and boys said 
“ Present ” when the teacher read their 
names from a big book. Once in a while 
when a name was called, nobody answered. 
Finally the teacher, smiling once more, said, 
“Marian Lee.” The little girl sat perfectly 
still with lips tightly closed. 

“ You must say ‘ present ’ when your name 
is called,” suggested the teacher. 

No response. 

“ Say present,” the teacher repeated. 

“ But I don’t like this kind of play,” 
Marian protested, and then wondered why 
all the children laughed and the teacher 
looked annoyed. 

“ But you must say present,” the young 
lady insisted and Marian obeyed, though she 
thought it a silly game. 

The things that happened in the school- 
room that morning were many and queer. A 
little boy had to stand on the floor in front 
of the teacher’s desk because he threw a 
paper wad. Then when the teacher wasn’t 
looking he aimed another at Marian and hit 


M ASIAN’S FIEST DAY IN SCHOOL 21 


her on the nose and when Marian laughed 
aloud, the teacher, who didn’t know what 
happened, shook her head and looked cross. 
It distressed Marian so to have the teacher 
look cross that she felt miserable and won- 
dered what folks went to school for anyway. 
A few moments later, she knew. The primer 
class was called and Marian, being told to do 
so, followed a dozen Little Pilgrims to the 
recitation seat where she was told that chil- 
dren go to school to learn their letters. 
Marian knew her letters, having learned 
them from the blocks in the nursery. 

“ You must learn to read,” advised the 
teacher, and Marian stared helplessly about 
the schoolroom. She felt sure it wouldn’t be 
a bit of fun to learn to read. Nor was it, if 
her first lesson was a sample. 

It wasn’t long before Marian was tired of 
sitting still. She wasn’t used to it. At last 
she remembered that in her pocket was a 
china doll, an inch high. On her desk was 
the new primer. The cover was pasteboard 
and of course one could chew pasteboard. The 
china doll needed a crib and as there seemed 


22 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


nothing to make a crib of but the cover of 
her primer, Marian chewed a corner of it, 
flattened it out and fitted the doll in. It 
pleased her, and she showed it to the little 
girl in the next seat. Soon the teacher 
noticed that Marian was turning around 
and showing her primer to all the chil- 
dren near, and the children were smiling. 

“ Marian, bring your book to me,” said the 
teacher. Then there was trouble. Little Pil- 
grims had to be taught not to chew their 
books. The teacher gave Marian what one 
of the older girls called a “ Lecture,” and 
Marian cried. 

“ I didn’t have anything to do,” she sobbed. 

“ Nothing to do ? ” exclaimed the teacher, 
“ why, little girl, you should study your les- 
son as you see the other children doing. That 
is why you are in school — to study.” 

Marian went to her seat, but how to study 
she didn’t know. She watched the other chil- 
dren bending over their books, making noises 
with their lips, so she bent over her primer 
and made so much noise the teacher told her 
she must keep still. 


MAE! AN’S FIEST DAY IN SCHOOL 23 


“ Why, Marian,” said the young lady, 
" what makes you so naughty ? I thought 
you were a good little girl ! ” 

Poor Marian didn’t know what to think. 
Tears, however, cleared her views. She de- 
cided that as going to school was a thing that 
must be endured because Mrs. Moore would be 
displeased otherwise, it would do no good to 
make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her 
slate or play with the stones in her pocket — 
anything to pass the time. There was a great 
deal in knowing what one could or could not 
do safely, and Marian learned that lesson 
faster than she learned to read. When she 
was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl 
flew to the nursery to tell Mrs. Moore about 
her first school day. Soon after when Marian 
ran laughing into the hall on her way to the 
playground, she met Janey Clark who sat be- 
hind her in school. 

“ Is Mrs. Moore your ma?” asked Janey. 

“ What’s a ma?” inquired Marian, seizing 
Janey’s two hands. 

“ A ma,” was the reply, “ why a ma is a 
mother. Is Mrs. Moore your mother ? ” 


24 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Maybe,” agreed Marian, “ Oh, no, she 
isn’t either. I know all about mothers, we 
sing about ’em, of course. I guess I never 
had one.” 

“ My mother just died,” declared Janey, 
tossing her head in an important way that 
aroused Marian’s envy. 

“ Well, mine died too ! ” responded Marian. 

“ Did you have a funeral ? ” persisted 
Janey. 

“ Did you ? ” Marian cautiously inquired. 

“ Well I should say yes,” was the reply. 

“ Then I did too,” observed Marian. 

“ Well,” remarked Janey, “ that’s nothing 
to brag of ; I don’t suppose there’s anybody in 
this Home that got here unless all their folks 
died dead. We are here because we don’t be- 
long anywhere else, and we are going to be 
given away to folks that’ll take us, pretty 
soon.” 

That was too much for Marian. “ Why, 
Janey Clark, what a talk!” she exclaimed, 
then turning, she ran back to the nursery. 

“ Nanna, Nanna I ” she cried, “ where’s my 
mother ? ” 


MAEIAN’S FIEST DAY IN SCHOOL 26 


Mrs. Moore almost dropped a fretful baby 
at the question. 

“ Did I ever have a mother ? ” continued 
the child, whose dark blue eyes looked black 
she was so much in earnest. “ I thought 
mothers were just only in singing, but Janey 
Clark had a mother and she died, and if Janey 
Clark had a mother, I guess I had one too that 
died.” 

The fretful baby was given to an assistant 
and Mrs. Moore took Marian in her lap. 
“ What else did Janey tell you ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Well, Janey said that all of us childrens 
are going to be gived away to folks. Mrs. 
Moore, did all the childrens that live here 
have mothers that died ? ” 

“ Not all of them, Marian, some of the 
mothers are living and the children will go 
back to them : but your mother, little girl, 
will never come back for you. God took her 
away when He sent you to us. We keep lit- 
tle children here in our home until we find 
new fathers and mothers for them. Some- 
times lovely mothers come here for little girls 


26 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


like you. How is it, Marian, do you want a 
mother ? ” 

The child nodded her head and looked 
so pleased Mrs. Moore was disappointed. It 
would be hard enough to part with the child 
anyway, but to think she wished to go was 
surprising. 

Two soft arms stole around Mrs. Moore’s 
neck. “ I’m going to have you for my 
mother,” Marian explained, “ and I’m going 
to live here always. I don’t want to be gived 
away.” 


CHAPTER III 


SHE GOES TO CHURCH 

Janey Clark was taken ill one day and 
was carried to the hospital. When she re- 
turned months afterward, she had something 
to tell Marian. 

“ You want to get yourself adopted,” was 
her advice. “ I’m going to, first chance I get. 
When I was too well to stay in the hospital 
and not enough well to come home, a pretty 
lady came and said would I like to go to her 
house and stay until I was all better.” 

“ Did she ’dopt you ? ” questioned Marian. 

“ No, of course not, or I could have stayed 
at her house and she would be my mother. 
She didn’t want to keep me but only to bor- 
row me so the children she is aunt to would 
know about Little Pilgrims and how lucky it 
is not to be one their own selves. And at 
her house,” continued Janey, “ if you liked 
something they had for dinner pretty well, 
27 


28 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


you could have a second helping, if you would 
say please. You better believe I said it when 
there was ice cream. And the children she 
was aunt to took turns dividing chocolate 
candy with me, and the only trouble was they 
gave me too much and made me sick most all 
the time. What do you think ! One day a 
girl said she wished I was a little cripple like 
a boy that was there once, because she liked 
to be kind to little cripples and wash their 
faces. Wasn’t she just lovely ? Oh, Marian, 
I want to be adopted and have a mother like 
that lady and a room all my own and every- 
thing,” 

“ But I would rather live with Mrs, Moore,” 
objected Marian, “ I’ve picked her out for my 
mother,” 

“ All right for you, stay here if you want 
to,” agreed Janey, “ but I’m not, you just wait 
and see,” 

Janey Clark was adopted soon after and 
when Marian was invited to visit her, she 
changed her mind about living forever in the 
Home for Little Pilgrims, Mrs, Moore prom- 
ised to choose a mother for her from the 


SHE GOES TO CHUECH 29 

many visitors to the Home, yet she and 
Marian proved hard to suit. 

“I want a mother just like my Nanna,” 
said Marian to the superintendent, who 
agreed to do all he could to find one. In 
spite of his help Marian seemed likely to 
stay in the Home, not because no one wanted 
her but because the child objected to the 
mothers who offered themselves. All these 
months the little girl was so happy and con- 
tented the superintendent said she was like a 
sunbeam among the Little Pilgrims and if 
the school-teacher had some ideas that he 
and Mrs. Moore didn’t share, she smiled and 
said nothing. 

In time, Marian talked of the mother she 
wished to have as she did of heaven — of 
something beautiful but too indefinite and far 
away to be more than a dream. One never- 
to-be-forgotten morning, the dream took shape. 
A woman visited the Home, leading a little 
girl by the hand. A woman so lovely the 
face of the dullest Little Pilgrim lighted as 
she passed. It was not so much the bright 
gold of her hair, nor the blue eyes that at- 


30 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


tracted the children, but the way she smiled 
and the way she spoke won them all. 

She was the mother for whom Marian had 
waited. It didn’t occur to the child that the 
woman might not want her. 

It was noon before the strangers were 
through visiting the chapel, the school- 
room, the nursery and the dormitories. 
Like a shadow Marian had followed them 
over the building, fearing to lose sight of her 
chosen mother. On reaching the dining-room 
the woman and child, with the superintendent, 
stood outside the door where they watched the 
Little Pilgrims march in to dinner. Noticing 
Marian, the superintendent asked her why she 
didn’t go to the table, and Marian tried to tell 
him but couldn’t speak a word. The man was 
about to send her in the dining-room when he 
caught the appealing look on the child’s face. 
At that moment the stranger turned. Mar- 
ian seized her dress and the woman, glancing 
down, saw the dear little one and stooping, 
kissed her. 

The superintendent smiled but Marian be- 
gan to cry as the woman tried ever so gently 


SHE GOES TO CHURCH 


31 


to release her dress from the small, clinging 
fingers, 

“ We must go now,” the stranger said, “ so 
good-bye, dear child.” 

“ I’m going with you,” announced Marian. 
“ I want you for my mother.” 

“ But, don’t you see, I have a little girl ? 
What could I do with two ? ” remonstrated 
the woman. “There, there,” she continued, 
as Marian began to sob piteously, “ run in 
to dinner and some day I will come to see 
you again. Perhaps they may let you visit 
my little girl and me before long. Would 
you like that? ” 

“ No, no,” wailed Marian, “ I want you for 
my mother.” 

“ Come, Marian, sweetheart, let’s go find 
Mrs. Moore,” suggested the superintendent, 
taking her by force from the visitor, whose 
eyes filled with tears at the sight of little out- 
stretched arms. For years afterwards there 
were times when that woman seemed to feel 
the clinging -fingers of the Little Pilgrim 
who chose her for her mother. She might 
have taken her home. The next time she 


32 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


called to inquire for the child, Marian was 
gone. 

An unexpected thing happened as Marian 
was borne away to the nursery. The stran- 
ger’s little girl cried and would not be com- 
forted because she couldn’t stay and have 
dinner with the Little Pilgrims. She was 
still grieving over her first sorrow after Mrs. 
Moore had succeeded in winning back the 
smiles to the face of her precious Marian. 

“ Well, I know one sure thing,” declared 
the Little Pilgrim as she raised her head 
from Mrs. Moore’s shoulder and brushed away 
the tears. “ I know that same mother will 
come and get me some time and take me home 
and then you will come and live with me — 
and won’t it be lovely ! Let’s have some 
dinner, I’m hungry ! ” 

Mrs. Moore smiled and sighed at the same 
time, but she ordered a luncheon for two 
served in the nursery and Marian’s troubles 
vanished : also the luncheon. 

The next time the superintendent saw the 
child, she was sitting on the nursery fioor 
singing to the babies. He was surprised and 


SHE GOES TO CHURCH 


33 


pleased when he heard the sweet, clear voice 
and straightway sought Mrs. Moore. 

“ Let me take her Sunday,” he suggested. 
“ I didn’t know our Marian was a singer.” 

“ Are you going into the country ? ” asked 
the nurse. 

“ No, Mrs. Moore, not this time. We ex- 
pect to have services in one of the largest 
churches right here in the city. We have 
made special arrangements and I shall take 
twenty-five of the best singers in the Home 
with me. Marian will have plenty of com- 
pany.” 

“ She is young,” objected Mrs. Moore. 

The superintendent laughed. “ Petey 
Ross,” said he, “ was two years old when 
he made his first public appearance on the 
platform; Marian is nearly six.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Mrs. Moore, “ that is true and 
I remember that Petey Ross was adopted and 
in less than a week after that first appearance. 
Marian,” she continued, “ come here, darling. 
Do you want to go to a big church with the 
children next Sunday and sing one of the 
songs you and I sing to the babies ? ” 


34 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


“ Yes, Nanna, what for ? ” 

“ Because the superintendent wishes you to. 
Every Sunday he takes some of our little 
boys and gilds away to sing in the different 
churches, where he tells the people all about 
the Home for Little Pilgrims.” 

“ Oh, yes, now I know,” declared Marian. 
“ Janey Clark used to go and sing. She said 
that was the way to get yourself adopted. I’d 
like to go if I don’t have to get adopted and 
if Nanna may go too.” 

“ All right, Marian, I will go,” assented 
Mrs. Moore, “ and nobody shall adopt you 
unless you wish it. Now run back to the 
babies. Little Ned and Jakey are quarreling 
over the elephant. Hurry, Marian, or its ears 
will be gone.” 

“ She’ll demand a salary in another year,” 
remarked the superintendent, watching the 
little girl’s successful management of the 
babies. 

“ I shouldn’t know how to get along with- 
out her,” said Mrs. Moore, “ and yet it isn’t 
right to let her grow up here.” 

Sunday morning it would have been hard 


SHE GOES TO CHUECH 


35 


to find a happier child than Marian anywhere 
in the big city. She had never been in a 
church before and quickly forgot her pretty 
white dress and curls in the wonder of it all. 
She sat on the platform, a radiant little Pil- 
grim among the twenty-five waifs. Soon the 
church was filled. After the opening exer- 
cises the service was turned over to the super- 
intendent of the Home for Little Pilgrims. 
He made a few remarks, and then asked 
Marian to sing. Pleased by the friendly faces 
in the pews and encouraged by Mrs. Moore’s 
presence, Marian sang timidly at first, then 
joyously as to the babies in the nursery. 

“‘lam Jesus’ little lamb 
Happy all the day I am, 

Jesus loves me this I know 
For I’m His lamb.’ ” 

As she went on with the song, the little girl 
was surprised to see many of the audience in 
tears. Even Mrs. Moore was wiping her eyes, 
although she smiled bravely and Marian knew 
she was not displeased. What could be the 
matter with the folks that bright Sunday myrn- 


36 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


ing? Janey Clark said everybody always cried 
at funerals. Perhaps it was a funeral. At the 
close of her song Marian sat down, much 
puzzled. After Johnnie Otis recited the poem 
he always recited on Visitors’ Day at school, 
“ The Orphan’s Prayer,” all the Little Pil- 
grims, Marian included, were asked to sing 
their chapel song. What was there sad about 
that, Marian wondered. She always sang it 
over and over to the babies to make them 
stop crying. 

“It is all for the best, oh, my Father, 

All for the best, all for the best.” 

When the Little Pilgrims were seated, the 
superintendent made a speech to which 
Marian listened. For the first time in her 
life she knew the meaning of the Home for 
Little Pilgrims. She understood at last all 
that Janey Clark had tried to tell her. No 
wonder the people cried. Marian stared at 
the superintendent, longing and dreading to 
hear more. Story after story he told of 
wrecked homes and scattered families ; of 
little children, homeless and friendless left 
to their fate upon the street. 


SHE GOES TO OHUECH 


37 


“ Whatever may be the causes which bring 
these waifs to our doors, remember,” said he, 
“ the children themselves are not to blame. 
It is through no fault of theirs their young 
lives have been saddened and trouble has 
come upon them while your little ones are 
loved and cared for in comfortable homes.” 

The superintendent grew eloquent as he 
went on. How could it be, Marian wondered, 
that she had never known before what a sad, 
sad place was the Little Pilgrims’ Home? 
Where did her mother die and where was her 
father ? Perhaps he was in the dreadful prison 
mentioned by the superintendent. It was 
such a pitiful thing to be a Little Pilgrim. 
Marian w'ondered how she had ever lived so 
long. Oh, if she could change places with 
one of the fortunate little ones in the pews. 
The superintendent was right. Every little 
girl needed a father and mother of her own. 
She wanted the lovely mother who had passed 
her by. What was the superintendent say- 
ing ? something about her ? The next thing 
Marian knew the man had taken her in his 
arms and placed her upon the little table 


38 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


beside him. She thought he said “ ‘ For of 
such is the Kingdom of Heaven/ ” — she 
wasn’t sure. 

In the quiet moment that followed, Marian 
looked all over the church for the mother of 
her dreams. Maybe she was there and per- 
haps she would take her home. If she could 
only see that one face for a moment. 

“ I am going to ask our little girl for 
another song,” the superintendent said, tell- 
ing Marian what to sing. The child hesi- 
tated, then looked appealing towards Mrs. 
Moore. She had forgotten her during the 
speech — dear, kind Mrs. Moore. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” whispered the super- 
intendent, whereupon to the surprise of every 
one in the church, Marian put her head upon 
his shoulder and sobbed aloud, “ I don’t want 
to be a Little Pilgrim any more ! Oh, I don’t 
want to be a Little Pilgrim any more ! ” 

Another second and Mrs. Moore’s arms were 
around the child and the superintendent was 
alone on the platform with the twenty-five. 

“ He told me to take you for a walk in the 
park,” whispered Mrs. Moore, “ so don’t cry, 


SHE GOES TO CHUECH 


39 


Marian, and we will leave the church quickly 
as we can. We will talk about the Little 
Pilgrims out in the sunshine where the birds 
are singing and we can see the blue sky.” 

Mrs. Moore would have been tempted to 
have stayed in the church had she known the 
superintendent’s reason for wishing her to 
take the child away ; nor would the good man 
have done as he did, could he have guessed 
the immediate consequences. When Marian 
was gone, the superintendent told her story 
effectively. She might have had her choice 
of many homes within a week had it not been 
for the appearance of Aunt Amelia. 


CHAPTER IV 


AUNT AMELIA 

There was no question about it. Aunt 
Amelia had a perfect right to claim the child. 
The superintendent was sorry to admit it, but 
what could he do? Mrs. Moore was heart- 
broken, but she was powerless. The proofs 
were positive. Aunt Amelia’s husband and 
Marian Lee’s father were half-brothers and 
here was Aunt Amelia insisting upon her 
right to do her duty by the child. 

Marian never heard of Aunt Amelia until 
it was all over and the superintendent sent for 
her. She came dancing into the office, her 
face aglow until she saw Aunt Amelia. Then 
the sunshine faded from her eyes and she 
shrank past the stranger, scarcely breathing 
until the superintendent’s arms were about 
her. From that safe shelter she surveyed 
Aunt Amelia. 

There was nothing in the woman’s appear- 
ance to inspire confidence in a little child. 

40 


AUNT AMELIA 


41 


She was tall, thin, bloodless. One felt con- 
scious of the bones in her vei’y forehead. 
She wore her scant, black hair in wiry crimps 
parted in the middle. Her eyes were the 
color of stone, while her lips formed a thin, 
pale lone line closing over projecting front 
teeth. There was a brittle look about her 
ears and nose as though a blow might shatter 
them. Angles completed the picture. 

“ You say you have a child of your own, 
Mrs. St. Claire ? ” The superintendent asked 
the question doubtfully. It seemed probable 
that his ears had deceived him. 

“ I have,” was the reply. 

“ Then Marian will be sure of a playmate.” 
The man seemed talking to himself. 

“ If she behaves herself — perhaps,” was the 
response. 

“ What do you mean ? ” demanded the su- 
perintendent. 

“ I think I expressed myself clearly,” said 
Mrs. St. Claire. “ If Marian behaves and is 
worthy of my little daughter’s companion- 
ship, we may allow them to play together 
occasionally.” 


42 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Does she want to ’dopt me ? ” whispered 
Marian ; “ tell her no, quick — I got to go back 
to the nursery. Put me down.” 

“ I am your Aunt Amelia,” announced 
the woman, “ and I have come to take you 
to Michigan to live with your Uncle George 
and me.” 

“Where did I get any Uncle George?” 
asked Marian, turning to the superintendent. 

“ It isn’t necessary to give a mere child 
too much information,” put in Mrs. St. Claire ; 
“it is enough for her to know that she has 
relatives who are willing to take her and do 
their duty by her.” 

Regardless of this the man answered one of 
the questions he saw in Marian’s solemn blue 
eyes. 

“ Your uncle and aunt,” he explained, “ are 
visiting in the city ; they were in church last 
Sunday when you sang. When relatives come 
for Little Pilgrims, Marian, we have to let 
them go.” 

“ You will not send me away with — her ! ” 
exclaimed the child, terror and entreaty ex- 
pressed in the uplifted face. 


AUNT AMELIA 


43 


“ Dear child, we must.” 

“ But I won’t go, I won’t go,” cried Marian, 
clinging to the superintendent for protection. 
“ Oh, you won’t send me away, Mrs. Moore 
won’t let them take me — I won’t go ! Please 
let me stay until the pretty mother comes 
again and I will ask her to take me and I 
know she will. Oh, if you love me, don’t 
send me away with her ! ” 

“ It is just as I told my husband Sunday 
morning,” remarked Mrs. St. Claire as the 
superintendent tried to soothe Marian’s vio- 
lent grief “ I said the child was subject to 
tantrums. It is sad to see such traits crop- 
ping out in one so young. Lack of training 
may have much to do with it. Other influ- 
ences ” 

“ Pardon me, madam,” interrupted the su- 
perintendent, “ you forget that this little one 
has been with us since she was six months 
old. Mrs. Moore has been a mother to her in 
every sense of the word. It is only natural 
that she dreads going among strangers. She 
is a good little girl and we all love her. 
Hush, sweetheart,” he whispered to the sob- 


44 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


bing, trembling child, “ perhaps your aunt 
may decide to leave you with us.” 

“ I — I — I won’t — won’t go,” protested Mar- 
ian, “ I — I won’t go, I won’t go ! ” 

“ Are you willing, madarn, to give this 
child to us ? ” continued the superintendent ; 
“ perhaps you may wish to relinquish your 
claim, under the circumstances.” 

“ I never shrink from my duty,” declared 
the woman, rising as she spoke, grim determi- 
nation in every line of her purple gown ; “ my 
husband feels it a disgrace to find his broth- 
er’s child in an orphan asylum. She cannot 
be left in a charitable institution while we 
have a crust to bestow upon her. She will 
take nothing from this place except the arti- 
cles which belonged to her mother. I will 
call for the child at eight this evening. Good- 
morning, sir.” 

“ I — I won’t go — I — won’t go ! You — you 
needn’t come for me ! ” Marian had the last 
word that time. 

The babies were left to the care of assist- 
ant nurses that afternoon. Mrs. Moore held 
Marian and rocked her as on that night so 


AUNT AMELIA 


45 


long before when she became a little Pilgrim. 
For some time neither of them spoke and 
tears fell like rain above the brown head 
nestled in Mrs. Moore’s arms. Marian was the 
first to break the silence. “ I — I won’t go, I 
won’t go,” she repeated between choking sobs, 
“ I — I won’t go, I won’t go, she’ll find out she 
won’t get me I ” 

Mrs. Moore tried to think of something to 
say. Just then a merry voice was heard sing- 
ing in the hall outside, 

“ It is all for the best, oh, my Father, 

All for the best, all for the best.” 

“ Will they let me come to see you every 
day ? ” asked Marian when the singer was be- 
yond hearing. “ Will they ? ” she repeated as 
Mrs. Moore made no answer. “ Where is 
Michigan, anyway? What street car goes out 
there ? ” 

It was some time before Mrs. Moore could 
speak. Her strongest impulse was to hide 
the precious baby. What would become of 
her darling among unloving strangers ? Who 


46 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


would teach her right from wrong ? Suddenly 
Mrs. Moore realized that in days to come there 
might be time enough for tears. There were 
yet a few hours left her with the little girl 
which she must improve. 

Gently and tenderly she told Marian the 
truth. Michigan was far, far away. She 
must go alone, to live among strangers — yet 
not alone, for there was One in heaven who 
would be with her and who would watch over 
her and love her always, as He had in the 
Home. Poor Marian heard the voice but the 
words meant nothing to her until long after- 
wards. Mrs. Moore herself could never recall 
just what she said that sad day. She knew 
she tried to tell Marian to be brave, to be 
good ; to tell the truth and do right : but more 
than once she broke down and wept with her 
darling. 

When Mrs. St. Claire called at eight, she 
was greeted by a quiet, submissive child who 
said she was ready to go. More than that, 
the little thing tried to smile as she promised 
to be a good girl. Perhaps the smile wouldn’t 
have been so easily discouraged if Mrs. St. 


AUNT AMELIA 


47 


Claire had kissed the swollen, tear-stained 
face, or had said one comforting word. 

The time of parting came. When it was 
over, Mrs. Moore lifted the sobbing child into 
the carriage. Then she knew that in spite of 
the stars the night was dark. 


CHAPTER V 


Marian’s new home 

The second day of the journey to the new 
home, Marian laughed aloud. She had slept 
well the night before and had taken a lively 
interest in everything she saw from the time 
she was awakened by the first glimpse of day- 
light through the sleeper windows. Not that 
she was happy, far from it, but it was some- 
thing that she wasn’t utterly miserable. 

Uncle George was pleasanter than his wife, 
and although he said little from behind his 
newspaper, that little was encouraging : his 
tones were kind. 

Ella St. Claire, the cousin, three years 
younger than Marian, was inclined to be 
friendly. Left to themselves the children 
might have had a delightful time, but Mrs. 
St. Claire had no intention of leaving the two 
to themselves ; it was not part of her plan. 
Marian made several attempts to get acquainted 
48 


MARIAN’S NEW HOME 


49 


and Ella kept edging away from her mother, 
until in the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. St. 
Claire remarked that if she wished to have 
any peace she must separate the children. 
Accordingly she took Ella by the hand and 
went several seats back, leaving Marian alone. 
As she left, Ella begged for a cooky. 

“ I’m hungry, too,” added Marian. 

Mrs. St. Claire gave Ella the cooky and 
passed a bit of dry bread to Marian. 

“ If you please,” suggested Marian, “ I like 
cookies, too.” 

“ You will take what I give you or go with- 
out,” said Mrs. St. Claire ; “ you can’t be starv- 
ing after the breakfast you ate in Buffalo.” 

Marian, sorry she had spoken, dropped from 
sight in the high-backed seat. There was a 
lump in her throat and so deep a longing for 
the Home she had left it was hard to keep the 
tears back. Just then an old man began snor- 
ing so loud the passengers smiled and Marian 
laughed in spite of herself. Having laughed 
once she grew more cheerful. There were 
green fields and bits of woodland to be seen 
from the car windows, cows, sheep, bright 


50 


THE RAIJTBOW BRIDGE 


flowers growing along the track, country roads 
and little children playing in their yards, sit- 
ting on fences and waving their hands to the 
passing train. Wonderful sights for a child 
straight from the Little Pilgrims’ Home in a 
big city. 

Uncle George, growing tired of his paper, 
crossed the aisle and sat down beside his niece. 
Marian looked up with a happy smile. “ I 
wish the cars would stop where the flowers 
grow,” she said, “ I’d like to pick some.” 

“ The cars will stop where the flowers grow,” 
answered the man. “ When we get home you 
will live among the flowers ; Marian, will you 
like that ? ” 

“ Oh, goody ! ” the child exclaimed. “ Oh, 
I am so glad ! May I pick some flowers? ” 

“ Indeed you may, and we’ll go to the 
woods where the wild flowers are. Were you 
ever in the woods ? ” 

Marian shook her head. “ I’ve been in the 
Public Gardens and on the Common, though, 
and I know all about woods.” 

“ Who told you about the woods ? ” 

“ Nanna — Mrs. Moore.” 


MAEIAN’S NEW HOME 


51 


“ Was she your nurse? ” 

“ Yes, Uncle George, she was my everybody. 
I love her more than anybody else in the 
world. She is the prettiest, nicest one in the 
Home.” 

“ See here, little girl,” interrupted the man, 
“ will you promise me something ? ” 

“ Why, yes, what is it ? ” 

“ I want you to do me this one favor. 
Don’t tell any one you were ever in an or- 
phan’s home.” 

The child was silent. “ What will I talk 
about ? ” she finally asked. 

Uncle George laughed. “ Take my advice 
and don’t say much about anything,” was his 
suggestion. “ You’ll find it the easiest way to 
get along. But whatever you talk about, 
don’t mention that Home.” 

Later, Aunt Amelia added a word on the 
same subject, but in a manner so harsh Marian 
became convinced that to have lived in an 
orphan asylum was a disgrace equal perhaps 
to a prison record. She determined never to 
mention the Home for Little Pilgrims. Janey 
Clark must have known what she was talking 


62 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


about and even Mrs. Moore, when questioned, 
had admitted that if she had a little girl it 
would make her feel sad to know she lived in 
a Home. Before the journey was ended 
Marian was thankful that relatives had claimed 
her. Perhaps if she tried hard, she might be 
able to win Aunt Amelia’s love. She would 
be a good little girl and do her best. 

One thing Marian learned before she had 
lived ten days with Aunt Amelia. The part of 
the house where she was welcome was the out- 
side. Fortunately it was summer and the new 
home was in a country town where streets 
were wide and the yards were large. Back of 
Aunt Amelia’s garden was an orchard, and 
there or in the locust grove near by, Marian 
passed untroubled hours. The front lawn, 
bordered with shrubs and flower beds, was 
pleasing enough, but it wasn’t the place for 
Marian who was not allowed to pick a blos- 
som, although the pansies begged for more 
chance to bloom. She could look at the pan- 
sies though, and feel of the roses if Aunt 
Amelia was out of sight. How Marian loved 
the roses — especially the velvety pink ones. 


MARIAN’S NEW HOME 


63 


She told them how much she loved them, and 
if the roses made no response to the endearing 
terms lavished upon them, at least they never 
turned away, nor said unkind, hard things to 
make her cry and long for Mrs. Moore. 

When Marian had been with the St. Claires 
a week. Aunt Amelia told her she could never 
hope to hear from Mrs. Moore, partly because 
Mrs. Moore didn’t know where she lived, and 
also because Mrs. Moore would gladly forget 
such a bad tempered, ungrateful little girl. 

The pink roses under the blue sky were a 
comfort then. So were the birds. Day after 
day Marian gave them messages to carry to 
Mrs. Moore. She talked to them in the or- 
chard and in the locust grove, and many a 
wild bird listened, with its head on one side, 
to the loving words of the little girl and then 
flew straight away over the tree-tops and the 
house-tops, away and away out of sight. Sev- 
eral weeks passed before Marian knew that she 
might pick dandelions and clover blossoms. 
Bouncing Bet and all the roadside blooms, to 
her heart’s content. That was joy ! 

Under a wide-spreading apple-tree, Marian 


54 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


made a collection of treasures she found in 
the yard. Curious stones were chief among 
them. Bits of moss, pretty twigs, bright 
leaves, broken china, colored glass — there was 
no end to the resources of that yard. One 
morning she found a fragile cup of blue. It 
looked like a tiny bit of painted egg shell, but 
how could an egg be so small, and who could 
have painted it ? She carried the wonder to 
Uncle George who told her it was part of a 
robin’s egg. 

“Who ate it?” asked Marian, whereupon 
Uncle George explained to her what the 
merest babies knew in the world outside the 
city. More than that, he went to the orchard, 
found a robin’s nest on the low branch of an 
apple-tree, and lifted her on his shoulder so 
that she might see it. There Avere four blue 
eggs in the nest. Marian wanted to break 
them to see the baby birds inside, but Uncle 
George cautioned her to wait and let the 
mother bird take care of her own round 
cradle. 

In the meantime Madam Robin scolded 
Uncle George and Marian until they left the 


MAEIAN’S NEW HOME 


55 


tree to watch her from a distance. That 
robin’s nest filled Marian’s every thought for 
days and days. When the baby birds were 
hatched she was so anxious to see them oftener 
than Uncle George had time to lift her on his 
shoulder, she learned to climb the tree. After 
that Marian was oftener in the apple-trees than 
under them. Had there been no rainy days 
and had the summer lasted all the year, Marian 
would have been a fortunate child. Aunt 
Amelia called her a tomboy and said no one 
would ever catch Ella St. Claire climbing trees 
and running like a wild child across the yard 
and through the locust grove. 

The two children admired each other. Had 
it been possible they would have played to- 
gether all the time. Marian, who became a 
sun-browned romp, thought there never was 
such a dainty creature as her delicate, white- 
skinned cousin Ella, whose long black curls 
were never tumbled by the wind or play ; and 
Ella never missed a chance to talk with her 
laughing, joyous cousin, who could always 
think of something new. 

Aunt Amelia said that Ella wasn’t the same 


66 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


child when she was left with Marian for half 
an hour, and she could not allow the children 
to play together for her little daughter’s sake. 
It was her duty as a mother to guard that little 
daughter from harmful influences. 

This was the talk to which Marian listened 
day after day. It grieved her to the quick. 
Again and again, especially on rainy days, she 
promised Aunt Amelia that she would be 
good, and each time Aunt Amelia sent her to 
her room to think over the bad things she had 
done and what an ungrateful child she was. 
Although Marian became convinced that she 
was a bad child, she couldn’t sit down and 
think of her sins long at a time, and her peni- 
tent spells usually ended in a concert. Uncle 
George took her to one early in the summer, 
and ever after, playing concert was one of 
Marian’s favorite games. She had committed 
“ Bingen on the Rhine ” to memory from 
hearing it often read in school at the Home, 
and on rainy days when sent to her room, she 
chanted it, wailed it and recited it until poor 
Ella was unhappy and discontented because 
she could have no part in the fun. 


MAEIAN’S NEW HOME 67 

Ella had a toy piano kept as an ornament. 
Marian’s piano was a chair, her stool was a 
box and her sheet music, an almanac : but in 
her soul was joy. 

“ What can you do with such a child ? ” de- 
manded Aunt Amelia. 

“ Let her alone,” counseled Uncle George. 


CHAPTER VI 


THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER 

One summer day the St. Claires were the 
guests of a farmer who lived a few miles from 
town. Ella stayed in the house with her 
mother and the farmer’s wife, but Marian 
saw the farm ; the cows and the sheep and the 
fields of grain. She asked more questions that 
day than the hired man ever answered at one 
time in his life before, and when night came 
he and Marian were tired. 

“ She knows as much about farming as I 
do,” the man said with a laugh as he put the 
sleepy child on the back seat of the carriage 
when the family were ready to go home. 

“ I’ve had a lovely time, Mr. Hired Man,” 
Marian roused herself to remark, “ and to- 
morrow I’m going to play farm.” 

“ Good haying weather,” the man suggested 
with a smile ; “ better get your barns up quick’s 
you can.” 


68 


THAT YELLOW CUCUMBEK 


69 


“ I’m going to,” was the response ; “ it’s a 
lovely game.” 

Whatever Marian saw or heard that pleased 
her fancy, she played. Stories that were read 
to the little Ella were enacted again and again 
in Marian’s room if the day was rainy, out in 
the orchard or the locust grove if the day was 
fair. Farming promised to be the most inter- 
esting game of all. 

Early the next morning Marian visited 
what she called the yarrow jungle ever since 
Uncle George read jungle stories to Ella. 
More than one queer looking creature tried to 
keep out of sight when her footsteps were 
heard. The old black beetle scampered away 
as fast as his six legs would carry him, though 
it can’t be possible he remembered the time 
when Marian captured him for her museum. 
Crickets gathered up their fiddles, seeking 
safety beyond the fence. Perhaps they 
thought Marian wanted them to play in the 
orchestra at another snail wedding. Even 
the ants hastened to the hills beyond the 
jungle, leaving only the old toad to wink and 
blink at the happy one of whom he had no fear. 


60 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Well, Mr. Toad,” said she, “ why don’t 
you hop along? I’ve come to make my farm 
out here where the yaiTow grows. Why don’t 
you live in the garden land ? I would if I 
were you. Don’t you know about the cool 
tomato groves and the cabbage tents? I’ve 
got to clear away this jungle so the sun may 
shine upon my farm the way the country 
man said. You really must go, so hop along 
and stop winking and blinking at me.” The 
old toad wouldn’t stir, so for his sake Marian 
spared the yarrow jungle. 

“ After all. I’ll make my farm here on the 
border-land,” said she, while the daisies 
nodded and the buttercups shone brighter 
than before. “ Only, I’ll tell you one thing, 
Mr. Toad, that maybe you won’t like. If you 
will stay there, you’ll have to be an elephant 
in the jungle. There, now, I s’pose you are 
sorry. I say — be an elephant and now you 
are one.” The toad didn’t mind a bit. He 
was so used to being changed into all sorts of 
animals that he never seemed to notice whether 
he was an elephant or a kangaroo. 

Day after day Marian worked upon her 


THAT YELLOW CUCTJMBEE 61 

farm, enclosing fields and meadows with high 
stone walls, clearing roads and planting trees. 
Whatever she touched became what she wished 
it to be. Pasteboard match-boxes became 
houses and barns. Sticks became men work- 
ing upon the farm and spools were wagons 
bearing loads of hay from place to place. At 
a word from her, green apples, standing upon 
four twigs, were instantly changed, becoming 
pigs, cows, sheep and horses. Kernels of 
yellow corn were chickens. It was a wonder- 
ful farm and for many a sunny hour Marian 
was happy. Even the old toad, winking and 
blinking beneath the shadow of the yarrow 
jungle, must have known it. 

At last there came a morning when the 
child went strolling through the garden. 
Suddenly, while singing her usual merry 
song, the joyous look faded from her face. 
She no longer saw the butterflies floating 
about nor cared that the bumble-bee wore his 
best velvet coat. There were tiny green 
cucumbers in that garden, just the right size 
for horses on the little girl’s farm. There were 
a great many cucumbers, so many that Marian 


62 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


felt sure no one would ever miss a few. She 
picked a handful and knew that she was 
stealing. The sun went under a cloud. A 
blue jay mocked at her and a wren scolded. 
Though far from happy, Marian hurried 
away to her farm. The old toad saw her 
sticking twigs in the cucumbers. Then she 
placed them in a row. 

“ Now be animals ! ” she commanded, but 
the spell was broken — she was no longer a 
farmer with magic power, but a pink-faced 
little girl who had done what she knew was 
wrong. And the cucumbers refused to be 
anything but cucumbers. 

Again the little girl went to the garden, re- 
turning with one big yellow cucumber that 
had gone to seed. “ Now I guess I’ll have a 
cucumber animal,” she said, in tones so cross 
the daisies seemed to tremble. “ You bad old 
cucumber, you’re no good anyway, nobody 
could eat you, nor make a pickle of you, so 
you may just turn yourself into a giant cow 
right off this minute ! There you are, stand- 
ing on four sticks. Now be a cow, I say.” 

The old cucumber wouldn’t be a cow. 


THAT YELLOW CUCUMBEE 63 

There it stood, big and yellow, spoiling the 
looks of the farm. 

“ What’s the matter with you, old toad ? ” 
went on the little girl. “ I tell you that’s a 
cow, and if you don’t believe it you can just 
get off my farm quick’s you can hop. You’re 
homely anyway, and you turned yourself back 
into a toad when I said be an elephant.” 

How surprised the toad was when the little 
girl took a stick and poked him along ahead 
of her. The poor old fellow had never been 
treated like that in his life. When he reached 
the garden he hid beneath the nearest cabbage 
plant. The little girl went on but came back 
in a short time with her apron full of cu- 
cumbers. 

“ I guess I’ll sit down here and put the 
sticks in them,” she said : but instead of 
touching the cucumbers the child sat on the 
ground beside the toad forever so long, look- 
ing cross, oh, so cross. The toad kept per- 
fectly still and by and by he and the little 
girl heard a man whistling. In a few minutes 
there was a long whistle and then no sound in 
the jungle save the buzzing of flies and the 


64 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

chirping of birds. The little girl was afraid 
of her uncle who had been her one friend in 
that land of strangers. Soon she heard them 
calling and with her apron full of cucumbers, 
Marian rose to meet him. 

It may be that the old toad, as he hopped 
back to the yarrow jungle, thought that he 
should never again see the little girl : but the 
next morning in the midst of brightest sun- 
shine, Marian returned, her head drooping. 
With her little feet she destroyed the farm 
and then, throwing herself face downward 
among the ruins, wept bitterly. When she 
raised her head the old toad was staring sol- 
emnly at her, causing fresh tears to overflow 
upon the round cheeks. 

“ Don’t look at me, toad, nobody does,” she 
wailed. “ I’m dreadfully bad and it doesn’t 
do a bit of good to be sorry. Nobody loves 
me and nobody ever will. Aunt Amelia says 
that Nanna wouldn’t love me now. Uncle 
George doesn’t love me, he says he’s disap- 
pointed in me! Oh, dear, oh, dear! No- 
body in this world loves me, toad, and oh, 
dear, I’ve got to eat all alone in the kitchen 


THAT YELLOW CUCUMBEE 65 

for two weeks, and even the housemaid doesn’t 
love me and can’t talk to me ! Oh, dear, 
what made me do it ! ” 

What could an old toad do but hide in the 
yarrow jungle: yet when he turned away 
Marian felt utterly deserted. It was dreadful 
to be so bad that even a toad wouldn’t look 
at her. 


CHAPTER VII 


AN UNDESEEVING CHILD 

Tey as hard as she would, Marian could 
not fit into Aunt Amelia’s home. Every- 
where within its walls, she was Marian the 
unwanted. Saddest of all, the child annoyed 
Uncle George. Not at first, to be sure; he 
liked his little niece in the beginning, but 
when Aunt Amelia and the little Ella were 
rendered unhappy by her presence, that made 
a difference. 

Early in the summer Uncle George insisted 
upon taking Marian wherever Ella and her 
mother went, to picnics, to the circus and 
other places of amusement, but as something 
disagreeable was sure to happen and trouble 
seemed to follow little Marian, she was finally 
left at home where her gay talk and merri- 
ment could not reach the ears of Aunt Amelia, 
who called her talk “ clatter ” and her laugh- 
ter “ cackle.” 


66 


AN UNDESEEVING CHILD 


67 


“ It’s cucumbers,” sobbed Marian, the first 
time she was left with the sympathetic house- 
maid. 

“ What do you mean, you poor little 
thing ? ” asked the girl. 

The child looked up in astonishment. 
“ Don’t you remember about the cucum- 
bers ? ” she asked reproachfully. 

Cucumbers,” sniffed the girl. “ Never 
mind, you poor, sweet darling, we’ll have a 
tea-party this afternoon, you and I, — that old 
pelican ! ” 

Marian knew no better than to tell about the 
tea-party, what a jolly time she had and how 
happy she was, closing her story by asking 
Uncle George if a pelican was a chicken. 

“ Because,” she added, “ we had a little dish 
of cream chicken and I didn’t see any pelican, 
but Annie did say two or three times, ‘ that 
old pelican ! ’ ” 

Aunt Amelia was prejudiced against peli- 
cans and she objected to tea-parties, so Annie 
packed her trunk and left. Lala took her 
place. Lala was equally kind but far too wise. 
She befriended the little girl every way in 


68 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


her power but cautioned her to keep her 
mouth shut. She went so far as to instruct 
the child in the art of lying and had there 
not been deep in Marian’s nature a love of 
truth, Lala’s influence might have been more 
effective. Marian turned from her without 
knowing why, nor would she accept any 
favors from the girl unless she believed Aunt 
Amelia approved. 

Lala called Marian a “ Little fool,” Aunt 
Amelia called her an undeserving, ungrateful 
child who would steal if she were not watched, 
a saucy, bold “ young one ” who had disap- 
pointed her Uncle George, and Uncle George 
plainly didn’t love her. What wonder that 
Marian had a small opinion of herself and 
dreaded the first Monday in September, the 
beginning of her school-days among strangers. 

The schoolhouse was so far from where 
Aunt Amelia lived, Marian carried her 
luncheon in a tin pail. The child left 
home that Monday, a timid, shrinking 
little mortal, afraid to speak to any one. 
She returned, happy as a lark, swinging her 
dinner pail and singing a new song until 


AN UNDESEEVING CHILD 69 

within sight of the St. Claire home. Then 
she walked more slowly and entered the gate 
like a weary pilgrim. She expected trouble, 
poor little Marian, but there happened to be 
callers, giving her a chance to escape unno- 
ticed to the locust grove where she made a 
jumping rope of a wild grape vine and played 
until the shadows were long and the day was 
done. 

That evening Uncle George questioned Mar- 
ian about her teacher and how she liked 
school. “ I hope,” said he, when he had 
listened to the account so gladly given, “ I 
hope you will be a credit to your uncle and 
that you will behave yourself and get to the 
head of your class and stay there. Don’t give 
your Uncle George any cause to be ashamed 
of his niece. I want to be proud of you.” 

“ Oh, do you ! ” exclaimed the child. “ Oh, 
I’ll try so hard to be good and learn my les- 
sons best of anybody. Then will you love 
me?” 

“ Good children are always loved,” put in 
Aunt Amelia. “ Doesn’t your Uncle George 
love Ella?” 


70 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


“ She’s his little girl,” ventured Marian, 
longing for a place beside Ella in her uncle’s 
lap. He certainly did love Ella. 

“ Sit down, child,” said Uncle George, 
“ you’re my brother’s little girl, aren’t you, 
and you are Ella’s cousin, aren’t you ? ” 

“ I am sure she ought to be grateful,” inter- 
rupted Aunt Amelia, “ Avith all she has done 
for her and such a home provided for 
her ” 

“ Oh, I am, I am,” protested Marian ear- 
nestly. “ I’m so glad I’ve got a home I don’t 
knoAv what to do, and I’m gratefuller’n any- 
thing ” 

“ Queer way of showing your gratitude,” ex- 
claimed Aunt Amelia ; “ a more undeserving 
child I never saw.” 

Uncle George bit his lip. “ Now don’t cry, 
Marian,” he cautioned, as the child’s eyes 
filled with tears. “ I have a story to read 
you and Ella, so sit down and be quiet.” 

“Don’t expect her to be quiet,” Aunt 
Amelia persisted. “ If she would listen to 
stories as Ella does, I wouldn’t send her to 
bed. You know as well as I do that she in- 


AN UNDESERVING CHILD 


71 


teiTupts and asks questions and gets in a per- 
fect fever of excitement. Ella behaves like a 
lady. You never catch her squirming and 
fidgeting about, acting like a perfect jumping- 
jack ” 

“ No,” remarked Uncle George, opening 
the book in his hand, she goes to sleep. 
Don’t you, pet? ” 

“ Go to bed, Marian,” Aunt Amelia com- 
manded. “ Not a word. I shall not allow you 
to add sauciness to disobedience. Go ! ” 

Uncle George frowned, put away the book 
and reached for his newspaper : then, touched 
by the pathetic figure in the doorway he 
called the child back. “ That’s right,” he 
said, “ be a good girl and obey your aunt 
promptly. She has your interest at heart, 
child. Come, kiss Uncle George good-night.” 

Marian was surprised because her natural 
tendency to kiss every one in the family be- 
fore going to bed had been severely checked 
and she had been obliged to whisper her good- 
nights to the cat. If she sometimes kissed 
its soft fur, what difference did it make, if 
the cat had no objection. 


72 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Now kiss little cousin Ella,” suggested 
Uncle George, but Ella covered her face, say- 
ing her mother had told her never to let Mar- 
ian touch her. 

Uncle George looked so angry Marian didn’t 
know what was going to happen. He put 
little Ella in her mother’s lap and then tak- 
ing Marian in his arms, carried her to her 
room. After the child had said her prayei-s 
and was in bed. Uncle George sat beside her 
and talked a long, long while. He told her 
to try and be a good child and do her best in 
school. 

Marian dreamed that night of Mrs. Moore 
and the little stranger’s mother. When she 
awoke in the starlight she was not afraid as 
usual. She thought of Uncle George and 
how she would try to please him in school 
that he might be proud of her and love her as 
she loved him, and so fell peacefully asleep. 

When the man was looking over his papers 
the next morning before breakfast he felt a 
touch upon his arm. He smiled when he saw 
Marian. “ I want to tell you,” she said, “ I’m 
awful sorry about the cucumbers.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS 

In November Ella and her mother began 
making plans for Christmas. Aunt Amelia 
invited seven little girls to tea one night 
when Uncle George was away, and Marian ate 
in the kitchen with Lala. The seven Avere 
all older than Ella and one of them, little 
Ruth Higgins, knowing no better, asked for 
Marian. Lala overheard the answer and ivas 
indignant. 

“ You poor little lamb,” she sputtered, upon 
returning to the kitchen, “ IM run aivay if I 
were you.” 

“ Where would I run to ? ” questioned Mar- 
ian. 

“ Anywhere’d be better than here,” the 
girl replied, “ and that woman calls herself a 
Christian ! ” 

“ She’s a aivful cross Christian,” Marian ad- 
mitted in a whisper, brushing away the tears 
73 


74 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


that came when she heard the peals of laugh- 
ter from the dining-room. 

“ I wouldn’t cry if I were you,” advised the 
girl. “ You’ll only spoil your pretty eyes and 
it Avill do them good to see you cry, you poor 
baby. The idea of having a party and mak- 
ing you stay out here ! ” 

“ It’s a Club,” corrected Marian, “ I’ve heard 
’em talking about it. Dorothy Avery and Ruth 
Higgins belong. I’ve tried so hard to be good 
so I could be in it. They are going to sew 
presents for poor children and give them toys 
and everything they don’t want their own 
selves, and then when Christmas day comes 
they’re going to have a sleigh ride and take 
the things to the poor children. If I was 
good like Ella, I could be in it. I used to be 
good, Lala, truly, I did.” 

“There, there, don’t cry,” begged Lala. 
“ Look a-here ! did you ever see anybody 
dance the lame man’s jig?” 

Marian shook her head, whereupon Lala 
performed the act to the music of a mournful 
tune she hummed, while Marian laughed 
until the Club was forgotten. There was 


IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS 75 

plenty of fun in the kitchen after that. In 
the midst of the hilarity Ella appeared to tell 
Marian it was her bedtime. 

“ Are you ever afraid, Lala, when you wake 
up all alone in the night?” asked Marian as 
she started up the back stairs. 

“ I never wake up,” said Lala. “ Do you, 
Marian ? ” 

“ Yes, and I’m lonesome without all the 
little girls. Sometimes I’m so frightened I 
pretty nearly die when I’m all alone and it’s 
dark.” 

“ Little girls,” echoed Lala, “ what little 
girls? Where did you live before you came 
here ? ” 

“ When I was good I lived in a big city, 
Lala.” 

“ Tell me about it,” the girl insisted. 

“ If you’ll promise you won’t ever tell, I 
will,” declared Marian. “I’ll have to whisper 
it. I lived in a beautiful orphan’s home, 
Lala.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Lala. “ Oh, you poor 
baby.” 

“ Of course it’s dreadful,” Marian hastened 


76 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


to say, “ but I couldn’t help it, Lala, truly I 
couldn’t ; they took me there when. I was a 
baby and it was a lovely place, only, it was a 
Home.” 

“ Do you know anything about your father 
and mother ? ” 

“ Oh, I guess they’re dead — my mother is 
anyway, and I’m ’fraid about my father,” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, Lala, Aunt Amelia always says, 
what can you expect when you think what 
my father was. I guess may be he was a 
stealer because Aunt Amelia won’t stop talk- 
ing about the cucumbers and what could you 
expect. Maybe he is in prison.” 

“ No, your father is not in prison, Marion 
Lee !” Lala exclaimed. “Listen. It was your 
father I heard them talking about with some 
callers the other day. I’m sure of it now, be- 
cause they said the man was a great deal 

younger than your uncle ” 

“ Oh, tell me, do tell me what you know 
about my father?” besought Marian, walking 
back into the kitchen on tiptoes. 

“ Oh, I don’t know much,” said the girl. 


IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS 77 

“ but he isn’t in prison, that’s one sure thing. 
He went away to South America years ago to 
make his fortune, and they know that all the 
men who went with him were killed, and as 
your father never came back they know he 
must be dead.” 

“ What was there bad about that ? ” ques- 
tioned the small daughter. 

“ Nothing,” was the reply, “ only he and 
your Uncle George had a quarrel. Your 
uncle didn’t want him to go because he said 
your father had plenty of money anyway, and 
it all came out as he said it would.” 

At that moment, Ella returned. Seeing 
Marian, she forgot that she was after a drink 
of water. “ Oh, Marian Lee ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ I’m going straight back and tell mamma you 
didn’t go to bed when I told you to. You’ll 
be sorry.” 

Marian, the guilty, flew up the back stairs, 
expecting swift punishment. She was sure 
she deserved it, and Avhat would Uncle George 
say ? It was so hard to be good. Retribution 
was left to Santa Claus. How could a dis- 
obedient, ungrateful child expect to be re- 


78 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


membered by that friend of good children? 
How could Marian hope for a single gift? 
Aunt Amelia didn’t know. Nevertheless the 
little girl pinned her faith to Santa Claus. 
He had never forgotten her nor the two hun- 
dred waifs at the Home. Teddy Daniels once 
made a face at the superintendent the very 
day before Christmas, yet Santa Claus gave 
him a drum. 

Marian wasn’t the least surprised Christmas 
morning when she found her stockings hang- 
ing by the sitting-room grate filled to the 
brim, exactly as Ella’s were. She was de- 
lighted beyond expression. 

“ Oh, oh, oh ! ” she cried. “ Both my 
stockings are full of things for me. Oh, see 
the packages ! Oh, I am so happy ! Just 
only look at the presents ! ” Uncle George 
left the room and Marian sat upon the rug to 
examine her treasures. 

“ Why don’t you look in your stockings, 
Ella? ” she suggested. “ Let’s undo our pres- 
ents together.” 

“ No, I’d rather wait and see what you’ll 
say when you know what you’ve got I ” Ella 


IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS 79 

replied. “ Mamma and I know some- 
thing.” 

“ Hush ! ” cautioned Aunt Amelia. “ Let’s 
see what Santa Claus has brought Marian. 
She knows whether she’s been a deserving, 
grateful child or not.” 

Why would Aunt Amelia remind one of 
disagreeable things on Christmas morning? 
Marian’s chin quivered before she took a 
thing from her stocking, Avhereupon Aunt 
Amelia smiled. In the meantime, Ella, be- 
coming impatient, emptied one of her stock- 
ings in her mother’s lap and began a series 
of squeals as toys, games and dolls tumbled out. 

“ Oh, what fun ! ” cried Marian, laughing 
and clapping her hands as she witnessed 
Ella’s delight. A pitiful expression stole 
over her face as she turned to her own stock- 
ings. How she longed for a mother to share 
her joy. How she wished Aunt Amelia would 
smile kindly and be pleased with her gifts. 
The child quickly removed the paper from a 
round package. 

“ I’ve got a ball,” she ventured. “ I’ll let 
you play with it, Ella.” 


80 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Got one of my own,” said Ella, exhibiting 
a big rubber ball. 

An exclamation of dismay burst from 
Marian’s lips. “ Why, why — it’s a potato ! ” 
she cried. 

“What did you expect?” inquired Aunt 
Amelia in chilling tones. 

“ I guess that was just for a joke.” The 
little girl smiled cheerfully as she said it, at the 
same time untying a box wrapped in tissue 
paper. Potatoes again. Marian shut her lips 
tight together and tried another package. 
More potatoes. Still she kept the tears back 
and reached for a long bundle. Removing 
the paper she found switches. Aunt Amelia 
and Ella watched silently as Marian, her eyes 
blazing and her cheeks growing a deeper red 
every second, emptied the stocking in which 
there was nothing but potatoes. Then the 
child rose, straightened her small figure to its 
full height and made this statement : 

“ That wasn’t never Santa Claus that did 
that ! ” 

“ Look in the other stocking,” Ella advised, 
“ there are real presents in that one. I guess 


IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS 81 

you will be a good girl now, won’t you, 
Marian? Take the other stocking down, 
quick.” 

“ No,” declared Marian, “ I don’t want any 
more potatoes. Nobody loves me and I don’t 
care if they don’t.” Then she broke down 
and cried so hard, Ella cried too. 

“What’s all the trouble?” asked Uncle 
George, entering the room at that moment. 

“ Marian is making a scene and distressing 
both Ella and me,” explained Aunt Amelia. 
“ She has been highly impertinent and un- 
grateful. Ella, you may have the other 
stocking yourself.” 

“ But I don’t want it,” sobbed Ella. “ I 
want Marian to have it.” 

“ Then we’ll take it to the poor children 
this afternoon,” said her mother. “ They’ll 
be glad to get it. Marian, don’t drop what’s 
in your apron. Now go to your room and 
think over how you’ve spoiled the peace of a 
family on Christmas morning. I’ll bring 
your breakfast to you myself.” 

“ I don’t want any breakfast,” sobbed Marian, 
walking away with her apron full of potatoes. 


82 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Come back,” called Uncle George. “ You 
tell your aunt you are sorry you were so 
naughty, and you may come to breakfast with 
us. It’s Christmas morning, child, why can’t 
you behave ? ” 

“ I wasn’t naughty,” sobbed Marian. 

« j >» 

“ Not another word,” put in Aunt Amelia. 
“ Go to your room, stubborn, bad child. I 
can’t have such an example continually be- 
fore my little Ella. We’ll have to put her in 
a reform school, George, if she doesn’t im- 
prove.” 

This remark fell upon unheeding ears so 
far as Marian was concerned. The minute 
the door of her little room closed behind her 
she dropped the potatoes upon the floor and 
throwing herself beside them cried as if her 
heart would break. 

“ Oh, Nanna, Nanna, I want you,” she 
sobbed. “ Oh, where are you, oh, my Mrs. 
Moore ? ” 


CHAPTER IX 


AT THE RICH MAn’s TABLE 

True to her word, Aunt Amelia carried 
Marian’s breakfast to her room. But for the 
interference of Uncle George his little niece 
would have been given bread and water ; it 
was all an impertinent child deserved. Uncle 
George, however, insisted that the One who 
was born on Christmas Day was a friend to 
sinners great and small. Out of respect to His 
memory, Marian should have her breakfast. 
Lala offered to take the tray up-stairs when it 
was ready, but Aunt Amelia said it was her 
duty to take it herself : so there was no one to 
speak a word of comfort to the little black 
sheep outside the fold. 

It had been a dark, cloudy morning, but 
curiously enough, the moment the door closed 
behind Aunt Amelia, the sun came out bright 
and warm, and shone straight through Marian’s 
window. The child raised her head, wiped 
83 


84 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


her eyes and finally sat up. She wouldn’t eat 
any breakfast of course, how could she? No 
one loved her and what was the use of eating? 
The tray looked tempting though and the 
breakfast smelled good. The big orange 
seemed rolling toward her and Uncle George 
must have poured the cream on her oatmeal. 
No one else would have given her so much. 
The omelet was steaming, and even Lala never 
made finer looking rolls. 

Marian moved a little nearer and a little 
nearer to the tray until the next thing she 
knew she was sitting in a chair, eating break- 
fast. Everything tasted good, and in a little 
while Marian felt better. Out of doors, the 
icy trees sparkled in the sunshine and all the 
world looked clean and new. Oh, how the 
little girl longed for a mother that Christmas 
morning. Some one who would love her and 
say “ Dear little Marian,” as Nanna once did. 

Thinking of Mrs. Moore brought back to 
the child’s memory that last day in the Home. 
Mrs. Moore had said, “ Be brave, be good and 
never forget the Father in heaven.” Marian 
had not been brave nor good ; and she had for- 


AT THE EICH MAN’S TABLE 


85 


gotten the Father in heaven. Suddenly the 
child looked around the room, under the bed 
everywhere. She was certainly alone. It 
seemed strange to say one’s prayers in the day- 
time, but Marian folded her hands and kneel- 
ing in the flood of sunshine beneath the win- 
dow, confessed her sins. She felt like a new 
born soul after that. The despairing, rebellious 
little Marian was gone, and in her place was a 
child at peace with herself and the world. 
Without putting it in words, Marian forgave 
Aunt Amelia : more than that, she felt posi- 
tively tender towards her. She would tell her 
she was sorry for her impertinence and prom- 
ise to be a good child. It would be so easy to 
do right. She would set Ella a good example. 
Not for anything would Marian ever again do 
what was wrong. In time Uncle George and 
Aunt Amelia would love her dearly. 

Marian smiled thoughtfully as she gazed 
down the straight and perfect path her little 
feet would travel from thenceforth forever- 
more. The child’s meditations were inter- 
rupted by a remembrance of the potatoes. 
There they were, her Christmas presents, try- 


86 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


ing to hide under the bed, under the chairs, 
beneath the bureau. She stared at them but 
a moment when a happy smile broke over 
her face. 

Marian Avas a saint no longer ; only a little 
girl about to play a new game. 

“ Why, it’s a circus ! ” she exclaimed, and 
straightway seizing the potatoes and breaking 
the switches into little sticks, she transformed 
the unwelcome gift into a circus parade. The 
elephant came first. His trunk Avas a trifie 
too stiff* as the sAvitches were not limber. The 
camel came next and if his humps Avere not 
exactly in the right place, he was all the more 
of a curiosity. Then followed the giraffe Avith 
sloping back and no head worth mentioning 
because there was nothing to stick on the 
piece of SAvitch that formed his long neck. 
Marian did Avish she had a bit of gum to use 
for a head. The giraffe would look more 
finished. The lion and the tiger were perfect. 
Marian could almost hear them roar. Nobody 
could have found any fault Avith the kangaroo 
except that he would fall on his front feet. 
The hippopotamus was a sight Avorth going to 


AT THE EICH MAN’S TABLE 


87 


see. So was the rhinoceros. The zebras al- 
most ran away, they were so natural. 

Marian searched eagerly for more potatoes. 
A peck would have been none too many. 
“ I’ll have to play the rest of the animals are 
in cages,” she said with a sigh. “ Too bad I 
didn’t get more potatoes. Wish I had the 
other stocking.” 

When Marian was tired of circus, she played 
concert. Bingen on the Rhine came in for 
its share of attention, but school songs were 
just as good and had ready-made tunes. 

Lala in the kitchen, heard the operatic 
singing and laughed. Aunt Amelia caught a 
few strains, frowned and closed the hall doors. 
Uncle George smiled behind his newspaper : 
but Ella, tired of her toys, pouted and said 
she wished she could ever have any fun. 
Marian always had a good time. Mrs. St. 
Claire reminded her of the sleigh ride with 
the seven little girls in the afternoon and 
Ella managed to get through the morning 
somehow, even if it was dull and Christmas 
joy was nowhere in the house except in the 
little room off the back hall up-stairs. 


88 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


At one o’clock Lala was sent to tell Marian 
she might come down to dinner if she would 
apologize to Aunt Amelia for her imperti- 
nence. Lala was forbidden to say more, but 
nobody thought to caution her not to laugh, 
and what did Lala do when she saw Marian 
playing the piano beside the circus parade, but 
laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks. 
Worst of all she waited on table with a broad 
smile on her face that made Aunt Amelia 
quite as uncomfortable as the mention of a 
pelican. Nor was it possible for Aunt Amelia 
to understand how a child who had been in 
disgrace all the forenoon, could be cheerful 
and ready to laugh on the slightest provoca- 
tion. She thought it poor taste. 

After dinner Ella thrust a repentant look- 
ing stocking in Marian’s hand. “ Papa says 
the things are yours and you must have 
them,” she explained. 

“ What makes the stocking look so floppy ? ” 
asked Marian. 

“ Because,” Ella went on, “ papa made me 
take all the potatoes out and there Avasn’t 
much left. You’ve got a handkerchief in the 


AT THE EIOH MAN’S TABLE 


89 


stocking from me and one from mamma, 
and ” 

“ Please don’t tell me,” protested Marian. 
“ I want to be s’prised.” 

“ Like the selfish child you are,” put in 
Aunt Amelia, “ unwilling to give your cousin 
a bit of pleasure.” 

“ And a box of dominoes from papa and 
a doll’s tea set Lala gave you,” finished 
Ella. 

“ She’ll expect a doll next,” observed Aunt 
Amelia. 

“ I did think Santa Claus would give me 
one,” admitted the child, “ but I had rather 
have the beautiful tea set. Help me set the 
table on this chair, Ella, and we’ll play Christ- 
mas dinner. I’ll let you pour the tea 
and ” 

“ Ella has no time to play,” her mother 
interrupted. “ Come, little one, help mamma 
finish packing the baskets of presents for the 
poor children.” 

“ But I had rather play with Marian’s tea 
set,” pouted Ella. 

“ You have one of your own, dearest.” 


90 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ It isn’t as nice as Marian’s, though, and I 
want to stay here and play.” 

“ Now you see, George,” and Mrs. St. Claire 
turned to her husband, “ now you see why I 
cannot allow these children to play together. 
You can see for yourself what an influence 
Marian has over our little Ella. Come, dar- 
ling, have you forgotten the sleigh ride ? It 
is time to get ready.” 

“ Me too?” questioned Marian, springing to 
her feet, “ shall I get ready ? ” 

The child knew her mistake in less than a 
minute, but forgetting the uselessness of pro- 
test, she begged’ so earnestly to be taken with 
the children Aunt Amelia called her saucy, 
and as a punishment, the Christmas gifts, tea 
set and all, were put on a high shelf out of 
sight. 

Marian was allowed to stand in the parlor 
by the window to see the sleigh-load of noisy 
children drive away. When they were gone, 
the parlor seemed bigger than usual and 
strangely quiet. Uncle George, with a frown 
on his face, was reading in the sitting-room. 
He didn’t look talkative and the clock ticked 


AT THE RICH MAN’S TABLE 


91 


loud. Marian turned again to the parlor 
window. Across the street was the rich man’s 
house, and in the front window of the rich 
man’s house was a poor little girl looking out 
— a sad little girl with hig eyes and a pale 
face. Marian waved her hand and the little 
girl waved hers — such a tiny, white hand. A 
new idea flashed into Marian’s mind. She 
had often seen the little girl across the way 
and wondered why she never played with 
Ella. At last she thought she knew. The 
rich man’s wife probably went to a hospital 
after the little girl, and took her home to get 
well just as Janey Clark was taken home, 
only Janey was never thin and delicate and 
Janey never stared quietly at everything as 
the little girl did who lived in the rich man’s 
house. 

Marian wondered why Aunt Amelia didn’t 
leave her some of the presents in the baskets. 
Perhaps nobody loved the little girl : maybe 
her father and mother were dead and Santa 
Claus didn’t know where to find her. Marian 
wished she had something to take to the poor 
thing. She would have given away her tea 


92 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


set that minute had it been within reach. 
J ust then a long-legged horse went by, a horse 
that looked so queer it reminded Marian of 
her potato menagerie. The child smiled at 
the thought. Perhaps the little girl in the 
rich man’s house never saw a potato animal 
and would like to see one. Perhaps she 
would like two or three for a Christmas pres- 
ent. Why not? It was all Marian had to 
give and the animals were funny enough to 
make any poor little girl laugh. Up-stairs 
Marian flew, returning with the elephant, the 
rhinoceros, the hippopotamus and two zebras 
packed in a pasteboard box. 

“ Please, Uncle George,” she asked, “ may I 
go and visit the poor little girl that lives in 
the rich man’s house ? I want to say ‘ Wish 
you a merry Christmas ’ to her, and ” 

“ Run along, child,” interrupted Uncle 
George, the frown smoothing out as he spoke, 
“ go where you will and have a good time if 
it is possible — bless your sunny face.” 

Uncle George had heard of the rich man’s 
house and he smiled a broad smile of amuse-t 
ment as he watched Marian climb the steps 


AT THE RICH MAN’S TABLE 


93 


and ring the bell. “ What next ? ” he in- 
quired as the door closed behind the child. 
In a short time he knew “ What next.” One 
of the rich man’s servants came over with a 
note from the neighbor’s wife, begging Uncle 
George to allow Marian to stay and help them 
enjoy their Christmas dinner at six. The per- 
mission was gladly given and at eight o’clock 
Marian came home hugging an immense wax 
doll and fairly bubbling over with excitement. 

“ I never had such a good time at the table 
in my life,” she began, “ a^ I did at the rich 
man’s house. They asked me to talk, just 
think of it — asked me to, and I did and they 
did and we all laughed. And the poor little 
girl isn’t poor, only just sick and she belongs 
to the folks. The rich man is her father and 
her name is Dolly Russel and she was gladder 
to see me than she ever was to see anybody in 
her life and she wants me to come again, 
and ” 

“ And I suppose you told all you knew,” 
snapped Aunt Amelia. 

“ Yes, most, ’specially at the table,” ad- 
mitted the child. 


CHAPTER X 


A GAME OP SLICED BIRDS 

Marian was so happy with her doll, and 
teaset the following day she was blind and 
deaf to all that happened in the house out- 
side her little room. She didn’t know that 
Mrs. Russel made her first call upon Aunt 
Amelia in the afternoon, nor that company 
was expected in the evening. Ella’s mysteri- 
ous airs were lost upon her. The child was 
accordingly surprised when she met the com- 
pany at breakfast. 

Aunt Hester, Mrs. St. Claire’s younger 
sister, was a pleasant surprise because she 
was good-looking and agreeable. She re- 
turned Marian’s smile of greeting Avith in- 
terest. Marian hoped she had found a friend 
and hovered near the welcome stranger until 
sent to her room. During the rest of the week 
she and Aunt Hester exchanged smiles when 
they met at the table, and to win a few kind 
94 


A GAME OF SLICED BIEDS 


95 


words from her became Marian’s dream. New 
Year’s Day brought an opportunity. Mrs. 
Eussel sent a box of sliced birds to Marian 
and her cousin, and as the gift came while 
the family were at breakfast, Marian knew all 
about it. At last she and Ella owned some- 
thing in common and might perhaps be al- 
lowed to play together. She could hardly 
wait to finish her breakfast. 

“ What are sliced birds and how do you 
play with them ? ” she asked Aunt Hester, 
who carried the box into the sitting-room. 

“ Well,” began Aunt Hester, “ can you read, 
Marian ? ” 

“ Yes, auntie, I can read pretty near any- 
thing I try to, but I can’t write very good, 
not a bit good. Do you have to write in 
sliced birds ? ” 

“ No,” was the laughing reply, “ if you can 
spell a little that is all that is necessary. 
Here is a paper with a list of birds on it Ave 
can put together. Now here is the word jay. 
A picture of a jay is cut in three pieces, on 
one piece is ‘ J,’ on another is ‘ A ’ and on the 
third is ‘ Y.’ Now hunt for ‘ J.’ ” 


96 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Ella knows her letters,” Marian suggested. 
“ Come, Ella, hunt for ‘ J,’ that piece would 
have a blue jay’s head on it, I guess.” Marian 
waited until Ella found the letter and to- 
gether they finished the blue jay. Both chil- 
dren were delighted with the result. 

“ Oh, what fun I ” cried Marian. “ We’ll 
make all the birds, Ella. I’ll read a name 
and tell you what letters to hunt for.” 

A shadow fell across the bright scene, caused 
by the entrance of Aunt Amelia. “ Go over 
there and sit down,” she said to Marian. “ I 
came in to help Hester divide the game.” 

“ Divide the game ! ” echoed both children. 

“ Oh, don’t do it, please don’t,” besought 
Marian, “ we want to play with all the birds 
together.” 

“ It seems a pity,” began Aunt Hester, but 
she gathered Ella in her arms and helped 
form all the birds in two straight lines upon 
the fioor as her sister desired. 

Marian watched with eager interest. She 
hoped when the birds were divided a few of 
the pretty ones might be given to her. If 
she had her choice she couldn’t tell whether 


A GAME OF SLICED BIEDS 97 

she would take the peacock or the bird of 
paradise — they were both gorgeous. The 
scarlet tanager and the red-headed wood- 
pecker were beautiful but of course it wasn’t 
fair to wish for all the brightest birds. It 
was Aunt Hester who suggested a way to 
divide the game. 

“ Let them take turns choosing,” she said. 
“ It seems to me that will be perfectly fair. 
The children might draw cuts for first 
choice.” 

At that, Marian saw her opportunity. 
“ Ella may be the first chooser,” she de- 
clared, and was rewarded by a smile from 
Aunt Hester. Which would Ella take? the 
bird of paradise or the peacock ? Either 
would please Marian, so it really made no 
difference which was left. Ella wanted them 
both and said so. 

“ Hush,” whispered her mother, “ if you 
keep still Marian won’t know which birds 
are the prettiest. Aunt Hester and I will 
help you choose.” 

“ I guess I’ll take that,” Ella decided, point- 
ing towards the bird of paradise. 


98 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


Marian was about to choose the peacock 
when a whispered word from Aunt Hester 
caught her ear. 

“ I hope, Ella dear, that she won’t take the 
peacock.” 

Marian hesitated a moment. She wanted 
the peacock with its gay, spreading tail, but 
if Aunt Hester wished Ella to have it perhaps 
she would love whoever helped her get it. 
“ I’ll take the turkey,” said the child, where- 
upon Ella gave a shout. 

“ She don’t know much, she took an old 
brown turkey. I’ll have the peacock and I 
want the red bird and the redhead.” 

Aunt Amelia laughed. “ One at a time, 
you dear, impulsive child,” said she, but 
Aunt Hester smiled across at Marian. “ Your 
turn,” she said. 

“ I’ll take the owl,” Marian quietly replied. 

“ Oh, ho ! an old owl ! ” laughed Ella, clap- 
ping her hands for joy. “ Now I’ll have the 
redhead ! goody ! And next time ” 

“ Hush,” warned her mother. “ You 
mustn’t let Marian know what you want or 
she’ll take it.” 


A GAME OF SLICED BIEDS 


99 


“ I choose the wren,” came in low tones 
from Marian. 

“ My turn,” Ella called. “ Give me the 
redhead.” 

“ Choose the flicker next,” advised her 
mother, so Marian, still hoping to be loved, 
chose the robin. 

Aunt Hester smiled again, but the smile 
was for Ella. “ Take the parrot next,” she 
whispered, so Marian chose the crow. 

“ Now, Ella, darling,” whispered her mother, 
“ the oriole, after Marian has her turn,” and 
Marian, taking the hint, motioned for the jay. 

It was over at last and Marian was told to 
go to her room. As she was leaving, Aunt 
Hester gave Ella a rapturous hug and said, 
“ Our baby has all the prettiest birds.” Aunt 
Hester didn’t know Marian heard the remark 
until she saw the tears that could not be kept 
back, wetting the rosy cheeks. “ Oh, you 
poor young one ! ” she exclaimed, and but for 
the presence of Aunt Amelia, she would have 
taken the sad little mortal in her arms. 

“ She’s crying ’cause her birds are all 
homely,” said Ella. 

Lore, 


100 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Of course, she always wants the best,” 
remarked Mrs. St. Claire, but Aunt Hester 
and Ella both gazed after the retreating figure 
of little Marian, with conscience-stricken faces. 
They had been three against one, and that one 
didn’t know enough to take the choicest birds 
when she had the chance. They hadn’t played 
fair. 

Marian, blinded by tears, stumbled over a 
rug at the door of her room and the sliced 
birds slipped almost unheeded from her apron. 
The nearest seat was the box she called her 
piano stool. She dropped upon it and buried 
her face in her arms on the piano. The 
sheet music tumbled forward upon her head, 
perhaps fearing it might be but an old almanac 
forever after. Bitter thoughts filled the little 
soul. Why would no one love her ? Why did 
the sound of her voice annoy every one so 
she feared to speak ? What was the trouble ? 
Was she so bad or so homely that no one 
might love her? She had tried to be good 
and tried to do right, but what difference had 
it made ? Aunt Hester thought her stupid 
because she allowed Ella to take what birds 


A GAME OF SLICED BIEDS 


101 


she would. Surely Aunt Hester was the stupid 
one. 

It was impossible for Marian to feel miser- 
able long at a time. In a few minutes she sat 
up and straightened her sheet music, where- 
upon the almanac became a hymn-book. She 
turned the leaves slowly as did the young lady 
who played the organ prayer-meeting nights. 
Then, addressing the wax doll and the bed 
posts she announced in solemn tones, “ We’ll 
sing nineteen verses of number ’leventy ’leven.” 

“Number ’leventy ’leven” happened to be 
“ Come Ye Disconsolate,” a hymn Marian 
was familiar with, as it was Aunt Amelia’s 
favorite. The tune began dismally enough, 
but the disconsolate one took courage on the 
third line and sang out triumphantly at last, 
with a great flourish upon the piano, “ ‘ Earth 
has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.’ ” 
“ Twenty Froggies Went to School ” came 
next, and Marian was herself once more, 
which is to say, she became at a moment’s 
notice, a famous musician, a school-teacher, a 
princess, a queen or whatever the occasion 
required, while the little room was easily 


102 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


changed into anything from the Desert of 
Sahara to a palace. 

The extent of Marian’s knowledge was the 
only limit to the games she played. Pictures 
in the family Bible had given her many an 
hour of entertainment in the little room, 
thanks to the fact that Uncle George allowed 
Marian to look at the pictures on an occasional 
Sunday afternoon. The doll almost broke her 
nose the day before playing “ Rebecca at the 
Well.” The “ Marriage at Cana ” was a safer 
game for a wax doll that could not stand, 
especially as the doll made a beautiful bride. 
Turning from her piano, Marian saw some- 
thing that made her laugh. The robin’s head 
and the duck’s feet had fallen one above the 
other. 

“ Poor robin,” she said, “ I guess you would 
rather have your own feet. R-o-b-i-n, I know 
how to spell you, and I’ll put you on your 
own feet and I’ll give the duck his own head 
so he can quack.” When the robin was put 
together it looked like an old friend. “ You’re 
nicer than the bird of paradise, after all,” de- 
clared Marian, “ because I know you so well. 


A GAME OF SLICED BIEDS 


103 


You and I used to be chums because I didn’t 
have any little girls to play with.” 

It was something of a puzzle to put all of 
the birds together, but when the work was 
finished Marian was pleased. “ You’re all so 
nice and common looking,” she said. “ I 
never saw the owl bird, but we used to hear 
him in the woods at night, didn’t we, blue 
jay? He used to go, ‘Who — who — whoo — 
whoo ! ’ We used to see you, old black crow, 
you always said ‘ Caw — caw — caw,’ and you 
dear little wren, how I would like to hear you 
sing once more. Where are you all now? 
Somewhere way down South, because our 
teacher says so and when the snow is gone, 
you’ll come flying hack. 

“ Oh, now we’ll play something. It is 
autumn over here on the rug, the rug’s the 
orchard, and the leaves are falling and all the 
flowers are fading and winter is coming. You 
see that sunshiny spot on the floor over there 
under the windows, hirdies? Well, that is 
down South where you are going. I don’t 
remember who goes first but I guess the little 
wren better fly away now, and we’ll have lots 


104 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


of fun.” One by one the birds went south, 
owl and all, and one by one they flew back to 
the orchard in the spring-time, where the wax 
doll welcomed them, listened to their songs 
and scattered strings about for them to use in 
building their nests. 

It was a pleasant game and Marian was 
called to the dining-room before she thought 
of putting the birds away. 

“ I wonder if I didn’t get the best half of 
the game after all,” she suggested to the wax 
doll as she threw it a parting kiss. 

Had Marian known that the bird of para- 
dise, the peacock and the other bright ones 
were laid upon a shelf as birds of no conse- 
quence and that Ella had complained all the 
forenoon of having nothing to do, she would 
have understood why Aunt Hester not only 
greeted her with a smile, but said at the same 
time, “ You dear, happy child.” 

It was enough that Aunt Hester said it and 
smiled, without puzzling for a reason. Surely 
Marian had chosen the better half of the game 
when such loving tones were meant for her. 
It was wonderful. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR 

A YEAR passed away, in which time Marian 
was kept more and more outside of the family 
and more and more apart from all ordinary 
pleasures of childhood, but in spite of every- 
thing she was happy, ever hoping to win the 
approval of her aunt and uncle. 

Going to school was a never-failing joy be- 
cause at noon-times and recess there were 
girls and boys to play with, and the long 
walks to and from school were always a de- 
light to a child who was interested in every- 
thing from a blade of grass to the clouds. 

Ella attended a private school near home 
and was scarcely allowed to speak to Marian. 
She had many playmates, but all of them put 
together were not half so attractive from her 
point of view as the little cousin who played 
alone. One winter morning Ella told Marian 
behind the dining-room door that her grand- 
105 


106 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


mother and Uncle Robert were coming to stay 
all the spring-time and that Uncle Robert was 
a little boy only a few years older than Marian. 
Ella was delighted, but Marian wished Uncle 
Robert was a girl. She had reason for the 
wish before summer. 

Marian was prejudiced against boys for as 
much as a year after Ella’s uncle went away. 
He believed it was his privilege to tease little 
girls, though in all his life he never had such 
a chance to torment any one as he had that 
spring. It was useless to play tricks on Ella, 
because she ran crying to her mother and that 
made trouble for Robert: but Marian could 
appeal to no one and teasing her was safe and 
interesting. To hold her doll by the hair 
while Marian begged and screamed, was daily 
amusement until the child learned to leave 
the doll in her room. To hide her few books 
was another pleasure and to frighten her on 
every possible occasion until her eyes seemed 
fairly popping out of her head, was a victory. 

Marian was glad to have some one to play 
with if that some one was a tyrant and often 
before her tears were dry, she was ready to 


THE WAY OF THE TEANSGEESSOE 107 

forgive Robert for teasing her and to join in 
any game he proposed. One day he suggested 
something that shocked Marian. He asked 
her to steal sugar. He didn’t say steal, he 
said “ Hook,” and at first Marian didn’t un- 
derstand. Robert told her to sneak into the 
pantry after Lala was through work in the 
afternoon, take a lump of sugar from the 
barrel and give it to him. She wouldn’t listen 
in the beginning, but by dint of persuasion 
and threats, Robert succeeded in getting his 
lump of sugar : not only one, but many, for 
stealing sugar became easier as the days 
went by and no one caught the small 
culprit. 

Robert’s ambition was to be a railroad engi- 
neer, and soon after the sugar stealing began, 
he made an engine of boxes and barrels in the 
locust grove. When it was finished and in 
running order, he allowed Marian to be his 
fireman. At first the child thought it was 
fun, but when she had shoveled air with a 
stick for five minutes without stopping, while 
Robert rang the bell, blew the whistle and 
ran the engine, she threw down her shovel. 


108 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


“ It’s my turn to be engineer now,” she de- 
clared. 

“ Girls don’t know enough to run engines,” 
was the reply. 

“ I’m not a girl,” protested Marian, “ I’m a 
fireman.” 

“ Then tend to your job, why don’t you ? ” 
was the retort. “ I wouldn’t ring the bell for 
my fireman if I didn’t think he was a good 
one. Come, coal up, tend to business.” 

Somewhat flattered, the fireman smiled, 
shoveled coal until his arms ached, and then 
rebelled. “ I say,” she declared, “ you’ve got 
to let me be engineer now ! I won’t be fire- 
man another minute ! ” 

“Oh, you won’t?” taunted the engineer. 
“ We’ll see about that ! Of course you needn’t 
shovel coal for me if you don’t want to, but you 
had better make up your mind pretty quick, be- 
cause if you won’t be my fireman. I’ll go and 
tell my sister Amelia that you steal sugar ! ” 

Marian was too stunned for words until 
Robert laughed. Then her face grew scarlet, 
and her eyes had a look in them the boy had 
never seen before. 


THE WAY OF THE TRANSGEESSOE 109 

“ You dare not tell ! ” she screamed, leaning 
towards Robert, anger and defiance in every 
line of her slight figure. “ I say you dare 
not ! ” 

“ I wonder why ? ” sniffed the boy. 

“ You know why ; you told me to take the 
sugar, and I got it for you and I never tasted 
a bit of it. You were such an old pig you 
wouldn’t give me back a crumb — old rhinoc- 
eros — hippopotamus — I’d call you an ele- 
phant too, only elephants are so much nicer’n 
you.” 

Again the boy laughed. “ You hooked the 
sugar, didn’t you ? ” he demanded. 

“ What if I did, didn’t I do it ’cause you 
told me to, and didn’t you eat it, you old 
gorilla?” 

“ What if I did. Miss Marian Spitfire ? I’ll 
say it’s one of your lies, and no one will be- 
lieye what you say. You know you can’t look 
my sister in the face and tell her you didn’t 
take the sugar, but I can stand up and cross 
my heart and hope to die if I ever saw any 
sugar, and they’ll believe me and they won’t 
believe you. Now will you shovel coal ? 


110 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


Toot- toot-toot — chew-chew-chew — ding-a-ling- 
a-ling — engine’s going to start ! Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

“ You mean thing, you horrid boy I I hate 
you I ” sputtered Marian, but she shoveled 
coal. In fact the child shoveled coal the rest 
of the spring whenever Robert chose to play 
engine, until the day his taunts proved too 
much and she kicked his engine to pieces, 
threatening to “ give it to him,” if he didn’t 
keep out of the way. 

“ Now tell,” she screamed from the midst 
of the wreck, “ tell anything you’re a mind 
to, I don’t care what you do.” 

Robert walked away whistling “Yankee 
Doodle.” “ I’m tired of playing engine,” he 
called over his shoulder, “ and I’m much 
obliged to you for saving me the trouble of 
taking it to pieces. I don’t wonder nobody 
likes you. My sister Amelia knows what 
she’s talking about when she says you’ve got 
the worst temper ever was ! I bet you’ll die 
in prison ” 

“ You’ll die before you get to prison if you 
don’t get out of my sight,” was the retort. 

Robert walked away so fast Marian was cer- 


THE WAY OP THE TEANSGEESSOR 111 


tain he was going to tell about the sugar and 
she waited, defiantly at first, then tremblingly. 
What would become of her? What would 
they do? For reasons best known to himself, 
Robert didn’t mention sugar, and after a few 
days of suspense, Marian breathed easier, al- 
though she wasn’t thoroughly comfortable un- 
til Robert and his mother were on their way 
home. 

A few weeks later Aunt Amelia made a jar 
of cookies for Ella’s birthday party. She 
made them herself and put them on a low 
shelf in the pantry. Marian asked for a cookie 
and was refused. She didn’t expect to get it. 
The more she thought of the cookies, the more 
she wanted one. She remembered the sugar. 
No one but Robert knew about that sugar, and 
if she helped herself to a cooky that would be 
her own secret. Marian took a cooky and ate 
it back of the orchard. Her old friends, the 
chipping sparrows, flew down for the crumbs 
that fell at her feet. The little birds were sur- 
prised when Marian frightened them away. 
She had been so kind to them they had lost 
all fear of her. 


112 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


The second cooky Marian took she ate in 
the locust grove where she was much annoyed 
by the curiosity of a chipmunk. He asked 
her questions with his head on one side and 
his hand on his heart. His chatter made her 
angry. What was it to him if she happened 
to be eating a cooky? She did wish folks 
w'ould mind their own business. From that 
day, Marian grew reckless. She carried away 
cookies two or three at a time and talked back 
to the birds and the squirrels and all the in- 
habitants of the orchard and the locust grove 
who were not polite enough to hide their in- 
quisitiveness. 

For once in her life, Marian had all the 
cookies she wished, although they agreed with 
neither her stomach nor her conscience. She 
didn’t feel well and she was cross and un- 
happy. At last Marian knew that the day 
of reckoning was near at hand. She could 
almost touch the bottom of the cooky jar 
when she realized that the cookies had been 
made for Ella’s party and had not been used 
upon the table. No one had lifted the cover 
of the jar but herself since the day they were 


THE WAY OF THE TEANSGEESSOR 113 

baked. It was a frightful thought. There 
was no more peace for Marian. Awake or 
dreaming, the cookies were ever before her. 
In school and at home they haunted her. 
What should she do, what could she do ? 

Quietly the child went about the house. 
She no longer sang nor laughed. Uncle 
George wondered. Aunt Amelia rejoiced. She 
thought Marian’s usual high spirits unbecom- 
ing a child dependent upon charity, as Marian 
had often heard her remark. 

“ She may be working too hard in school,” 
suggested Uncle George. 

“ Whatever is the cause she has behaved so 
Avell lately, I shall allow her in the sittingr 
room with the children when Ella has her 
party,” conceded Aunt Amelia. 

Even a shadow of kindness touched Marian’s 
heart. Oh, why had she done wrong? From 
the depths of her soul, the child repented. 
Why had she been called bad in the days 
when she tried to be good, and at last when 
she was so bad, why would Aunt Amelia de- 
clare that there was a great improvement in 
her behavior, and why would Uncle George 


114 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


speak to her almost as pleasantly as he did to 
Ella ? If only she had remembered the words 
of Mrs. Moore before it was too late ; to “ Be 
good and to do right.” Mrs. Moore also said, 
“ Be brave.” It would be brave to go to Aunt 
Amelia and tell her the truth about the cook- 
ies. Marian had not been good, she had not 
done right and she could not be brave. 

Many and many a time the child studied 
the grim face of Aunt Amelia, repeating over 
and over to herself “ Be brave.” It seemed 
to Marian that if she attempted telling Aunt 
Amelia of her sin, she would die on the spot, 
choke to death, perhaps, trying to get the 
words out. Her throat closed tight together 
at the very thought. It might, under some 
circumstances, be possible to tell Uncle George, 
although to confess was to be forever an out- 
cast. Neither Uncle George nor Aunt Amelia 
would ever love her, nor would she ever be 
allowed to play with Ella. All the golden 
texts Marian had ever learned, haunted her 
memory. “ The way of the transgressor is 
hard.” “ Be sure your sin will find you out.” 
“ Enter not into the path of the wicked.” 


THE WAY OP THE TEANSGEESSOE 115 


“Evil pursueth sinners.” There were many 
others, so many, the child was sorry she had 
ever gone to Sunday-school. 

The day of the party was bright and beauti- 
ful. All the little girls came who were in- 
vited, Ruth Higgins, Dorothy Avery and 
Dolly Russel among the number. Marian 
went into the sitting-room with drooping 
head and misery in her soul, until joining in 
the games and merriment, she forgot the 
cookies and had a good time. Not a thought 
of trouble disturbed her pleasure even though 
she heard Lala setting the table in the din- 
ing-room. 

Her conscience awoke only when Aunt 
Amelia appeared to summon her into the 
kitchen. Every bit of color left the child’s 
face. She could hear nothing clearly because 
of the ringing in her ears. As she followed 
Aunt Amelia through the dining-room the 
floor seemed rising up at every step and the 
candles on the birthday cake danced before her 
eyes. On the table in the kitchen was the 
empty cooky jar, the eloquent witness of her 
guilt. On a rosebud plate beside it were less 


116 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


than a dozen cookies. Marian gazed stupidly 
at the jar and at the plate of cookies. 

“ What have you to say for yourself, Marian 
Lee ? ” Aunt Amelia’s voice sounded far 
away. There were such lumps in Marian’s 
throat she couldn’t speak. 

“ Answer me,” commanded Aunt Amelia, 
“ what have you to say ? ” 

Marian’s tongue felt paralyzed. Perhaps it 
was unwilling to do its owner’s bidding. It 
was certainly hard for that truthful little 
tougue to say the one word “ Nothing.” Aunt 
Amelia’s face was terrible. “ Do you mean 
to tell me that you haven’t touched those 
cookies ? ” 

There was no retreat. Marian nodded her 
head. 

“ Speak ! ” continued Aunt Amelia, “ say 
yes or no ? Do you dare to tell me that you 
didn’t take the cookies ? ” 

It was all Marian did dare to do and her 
reply was “ Yes.” 

Aunt Amelia raised a long forefinger as 
she said, “ Don’t stand there and lie, Marian 
Lee, you took those cookies.” 


THE WAY OF THE TEANSGEESSOE 117 

“ I did not.” Lala grew pale when she 
heard that answer and saw the terrified eyes 
of the child. 

“ Own up,” she whispered as she passed 
the trembling sinner on her way to the dining- 
room. 

Marian looked beseechingly at Aunt Amelia, 
but her face was hard and pitiless. The child 
dared not “ Be brave.” “ I did not touch the 
cookies,” she repeated again and again. 

“ How do you account for the disappearance 
of a whole jar of cookies, Marian, if you 
didn’t eat them ? ” asked Uncle George upon 
his arrival. 

Marian had not thought of accounting for 
the loss of the cookies, but she took a deep 
breath and made a suggestion. “ I s’pose a 
hungry tramp took ’em.” 

The reply wasn’t satisfactory. Uncle George 
frowned and Aunt Amelia smiled. The smile 
wasn’t the kind she was in the habit of be- 
stowing upon Ella. It was the sort that 
froze the blood in Marian’s veins. She sank 
in a miserable little heap upon the floor and 
cried and cried. 


118 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Reform school is the place for children 
. who steal and lie,” said Aunt Amelia. 

Uncle George tried to make the child con- 
fess, but his efforts were vain. She would 
not. Threats were powerless. The more 
frightened Marian became the more vehe- 
mently she denied her guilt. Although it 
was Ella’s birthday, and shouts of laughter 
could be heard from the sitting-room. Aunt 
Amelia produced a certain strap Marian was 
familiar Avith through past experience. 
“ Spare the rod, spoil the child,” was Mrs. 
St. Claire’s favorite motto so far as her hus- 
band’s small relative was concerned. 

“ You can whip me till I die,” sobbed 
Marian when she saw the strap, “ but I can’t 
say I took the cookies, because I didn’t. How 
can I say I did, when I didn’t?” Nor could 
Aunt Amelia nor Uncle George compel the 
child to say anything different. 

“ You can whip me till I die,” she insisted 
over and over, “ but I can’t say I took 
those cookies,” and they finally believed 
her. 

“ Go to bed,” commanded Aunt Amelia. “ I 


THE WAY OF THE TEAHSGEESSOE 119 


don’t want to see a child who could die easier 
than she could tell the truth. Go ! ” 

A smothered sob caught Marian’s ear. 
Lala was crying ; and because Lala cried and 
was soon after found in Marian’s room trying 
to quiet her, she was sent away the next day. 
Tilly was her successor. Before she had been 
in the house a week, she openly befriended 
Marian. “ Poor little thing,” she said, “ if 
you had stolen a barrel of cookies from a 
baker you wouldn’t have deserved half of the 
punishment you get. There isn’t anything 
left they can do to you, is there? ” 

“ Yes, they can send me to the reform 
school,” was the reply, “ and, oh, dear. I’m 
afraid to go. What will become of me ? ” 

“ If I were you,” Tilly advised, “ and I 
took the cookies, I would own up. They 
can’t any more than kill you and I guess 
they’ll do that anyway.” 

Marian shook her head. The time to own 
up was long passed. She stayed in her room 
and ate bread and water a week without pro- 
test. On Sunday afternoon she listened to 
the story of Ananias and Sapphira with teeth 


120 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


and fists tightly closed. She heard long 
speeches on the fearful consequences of steal- 
ing and lying, without a word. Only when 
questioned would she say in low spiritless 
tones, “ I did not touch the cookies.” 

When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia 
and Uncle George gave up trying to wring a 
confession from her and the child was simply 
in disgrace, her own conscience began its 
work. It gave her no peace. Marian had 
said her prayers every night as Mrs, Moore 
had taught her when she was a baby ; but she 
had repeated them quickly with her back 
turned towards heaven and had made no 
mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her 
conscience, and not knowing where to turn 
for comfort, Marian knelt by her bedside one 
night and tried an experiment. 

“ O Lord,” she began, “ I am not going to 
lie to you about the cookies. Thou knowest 
I took them. That is why I haven’t said any 
made up prayers for so long. I knew Thou 
knewest how wicked I am and I know what 
the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid 
of Aunt Amelia or I would own up. She 


THE WAY OP THE TEANSGRESSOE 121 

says I won’t go to heaven when I die because 
1 am too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I 
know I could be good in heaven, but it has 
been hard work on earth, and after I took the 
cookies I got wickeder and Avickeder, but 
honest and truth I’ll never do anything wrong 
again and I’ll never tell another lie. Thou 
knowest I could be good in heaven. Please, 
O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up 
to heaven when I die. Amen.” 

That prayer didn’t help Marian a bit. She 
could scarcely get off her knees when she had 
said “ Amen.” Her head seemed bowed down 
beneath a weight of cookies. 

“ You know what you must do,” insisted 
her conscience, “you must go to your Uncle 
George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say.” 

“ But I can’t do that, and I’m so unhappy,” 
sobbed Marian, but her conscience was pitiless. 
It would allow no compromise. “ Oh, if I 
could see Nanna,” whispered Marian as she 
crept into bed. No one had ever kissed her 
good-night but once since she had left the 
Home, and now, no one ever would again. 
The Father in heaven had turned away His 


122 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

face. Marian cried herself to sleep as she had 
many a night before. 

In the middle of the night she awoke and 
sat up in bed, cold and trembling. Thunder 
was rolling through the sky and an occasional 
flash of lightning made the little room bright 
one minute and inky black the next. Per- 
haps the end of the world was coming when 
the graves would give up their dead and the 
terrible Judge would descend to deal with the 
wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house. 
Marian dived beneath the blankets, but a hor- 
rible thought caused her to sit bolt upright 
again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sin- 
ners, on the last day, would call for the rocks 
and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps 
hiding beneath blankets meant the same thing. 
Another crash came and a blinding flash 
of lightning. Then another and another. 
Springing from her bed, Marian ran down 
the hall to Mrs. St. Claire’s room. The 
door was closed but the room was lighted. 

“ Oh, let me come in,” she cried, knocking 
frantically at the door and keeping her eye 
upon the crack of light at the bottom. 


THE WAY OP THE TKANSGEESSOE 123 

The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia 
stepped into the hall and closed the door be- 
hind her. '' Go back to your room,” she said, 
“ and don’t you dare leave it again. I should 
think you would expect the lightning to 
strike you ! ” 

Marian shrank back as a flash of lightning 
illumined the hall. For one moment she 
saw Aunt Amelia, tall and terrible in her 
white night-dress, her voice more fearful than 
the thunder, and her form seeming to stretch 
upward and upward, growing thinner and thin- 
ner until it vanished in the awful darkness. 

Marian fled, closing the door of her little 
room and placing a chair against it. Kneel- 
ing by the window, she closed her eyes to 
shut out glimpses of the unnatural garden be- 
low and the angry sky above. The thought 
of sudden death filled her with terror. What 
would become of her soul if she died with her 
sins unconfessed ? “Dear Father in heaven,” 
she cried, “ if you have to kill me with light- 
ning, forgive me and take me to heaven. 
I’ll be good there. I’ll never steal anything 
there nor ever lie again. I was going to own 


124 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

up to Aunt Amelia, but O Lord, I was so 
afraid of her I didn’t dare. If you’ll let me 
live through this night. I’ll go and tell her in 
the morning and then I’ll never do wrong 
again. O Lord, I’m so sorry, and I’m awful 
afraid of lightning. I don’t want to die by 
it, but if I have to, please take me up to 
heaven. Amen.” 

Then Marian went back to bed. Her con- 
science didn’t say a word that time and she 
went to sleep before the storm was over, long 
before Ella was quieted or ever Aunt Amelia 
closed her eyes. 

Marian’s first waking thought when she 
looked out on the fresh brightness of another 
day was one of thankfulness. It was good to 
be alive. Another second and she groaned. 
Perhaps she would have been dead but for 
that midnight promise, the promise she must 
keep. Marian dressed quickly and sought 
Aunt Amelia before she lost courage. She 
wasn’t gone long. Back she flew to the little 
room where her prayer was short although 
her sobs were long. 

“ Oh, Lord, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.” 


THE WAY OP THE TEANSGEESSOE 125 


There were many thunder-storms that 
summer and for a while every one of 
them frightened Marian. In the night, 
she would resolve to confess, but daylight 
took away her courage. “ If I should be 
sick a long time,” Marian argued, “ perhaps 
then Aunt Amelia would like me some and 
just before I died I could shut my eyes and 
tell her about the cookies. Then God would 
surely forgive me and I would go straight up 
to heaven and it would be all right. But if 
I should die suddenly, before I had any time 
to say any last words, what would become of 
me ? ” she asked herself. After thinking of it 
some time, Marian hit upon a plan that 
brought her peace of mind. She wrote the 
following confession : 

“ Nobody knows how much I have suffered 
on account of some cookies. I used to like 
cookies but not now. It began by sugar. I 
took lumps of sugar out of a barrel for a boy. 
I thought if I could take sugar I could take 
cookies, too, and I did, but I said I didn’t. 
I did take the cookies. I hope my folks will 
forgive me now I am dead. I suffered awful 


126 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


before I died on account of cookies. Give 
my wax doll and all my things to Ella. The 
doll is good if I wasn’t. I tried but it is hard 
for some children on earth. I am awful sorry 
on account of being so much trouble to every- 
body. I took those cookies. Marian Lee.” 

Having folded this paper, Marian was hap- 
pier than she had been for weeks. She felt 
that she had saved her soul. 


CHAPTER XII 
Marian’s diary 

^‘JuNE 20. — It is hard to begin a diary. 
You don’t know what to say first. Bernice 
Jones says a diary is a book to put the weather 
in. She ought to know on account of her 
grandmother keeping one. Leonore Whiting, 
the girl that sits behind me and wears the 
prettiest ribbons in school, says a diary is to 
put your feelings in. Leonore thinks she 
ought to know because her sister is a poetry 
writer. 

“ When I asked Uncle George for an empty 
diary and what you write in it, he laughed 
and said he would give me all the paper I 
wanted to write things in and I had better 
put down everything. He said it would be a 
good thing for me to write more and talk less, 
so I guess I will have the fullest diary of any 
of the Diary Club. That’s our name. Maud 
Brown was the one that got up the name. 

127 


128 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


She says everybod}' belongs to a Club. Her 
mother does and her father and her brothers 
too. Maud says she has got to be in a Club 
or she never will be happy. She is only going 
to keep weather because she doesn’t like to 
write. Leonore and a lot of the other girls 
are just going to keep a few feelings, but I am 
going to write down weather and feelings and 
everything. 

“ The weather is all right to-day. 

“ It is too bad about vacation. It is almost 
here and then I won’t have anybody to play 
with. Uncle George says he never saw a little 
girl like to go to school as well as I do. It 
really isn’t school I like to go to, it is recesses. 
I guess he had some other boys to play with, 
when he was little or he would know. I 
would like to play with Dolly Russel but my 
aunt never will let me go over there and she 
tells Dolly’s mother ‘ No,’ about everything 
she wants me to do. She did let Ella go, only 
they don’t invite Ella any more. I wonder if 
she talked too much, or broke anything, or 
why? Lala works over there now, but my 
aunt told me not to talk to Lala so I don’t dare. 


MAEIAN’S DIAEY 


129 


“ I found out something to-day at school. 
The children that live in houses don’t all go 
to bed in the dark. I cried and cried when I 
first had to go to bed in the dark because 
where I used to live, we didn’t have to. I 
wish I could sit up late at night. 

“ Another thing about a diary is how nice it 
will be for your grandchildren to know what 
you used to think about and what you used 
to do. I can hardly believe that I am the 
grandmother of my own grandchildren, but 
of course it is so. 

“June 21. — We took our diaries to school. 
I had the most written of anybody, but I 
don’t think it is nice to read your diary out 
loud because they ask questions. The girls 
wanted to know where I used to live and I 
wanted to tell them but I didn’t dare to, and 
now I wonder about things. Louise Fisher 
said that Dolly Russel’s mother told her 
mother that my aunt is not good to me, and 
a good many more things, and they are all 
sorry for me and they say it is too bad I can’t 
have pretty clothes like Ella, I didn’t say 
much because I don’t want everybody in 


130 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


school to know how bad I am and that no- 
body can love me, and about the cookies. I 
guess I would die if they knew it all. Their 
mothers wouldn’t let them play with me at 
recess. 

“ I wish I had a white dress to wear the 
last day of school when I sing a song alone 
and speak my piece. I don’t like to sing and 
speak pieces because I am afraid. I am not 
going to take my diary to school any more. 

“June 22. — I don’t know what to think. 
I heard some more things about me at school 
to-day. Folks wonder who I am and where I 
came from, and Louise Fisher says she knows 
Uncle George is not my own uncle and if she 
was me she ivould run away. I can’t run 
away because I don’t know where to run to 
and I am afraid. Ella knows things about 
me and if she ever gets a chance I guess she 
will tell me, but her mother won’t let her 
speak to me if she can help it. I guess her 
mother doesn’t know how hard I try to set 
Ella a good example of being polite and not 
slamming doors and speak when you’re spoken 
to, and children should be seen and not heard. 


M ASIAN’S DIAEY 


131 


and if you behave as well as you look you’ll 
be all right. 

“ I know it was bad about the cookies, but 
Ella never can do a cooky sin because her 
mother always says to her, ‘ Help yourself, 
darling,’ and that’s different. Besides that, 
Ella thinks a tramp did take the cookies. I 
will tell her some time because she cried and 
was sorry I had so much trouble. Then she 
will never speak to me again, but it is better 
to tell the truth than to do any other way. 
When I think I am going to die, sure, then I 
will tell my aunt if it kills me. 

“ I wonder if Uncle George is my uncle or 
what ? 

“June 23. — It was the last day of school 
to-day. I sung my song and spoke my piece 
and Dolly Russel’s mother kissed me. I wish 
she was my mother. I wish I had a mother. 
I am glad she kissed me. Aunt Amelia 
wasn’t there. Ella cried because she couldn’t 
go. It didn’t rain. You don’t think about 
weather when it is nice. 

“ September 5. — The queerest thing hap- 
pened. I thought I would be the one that 


132 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


would write the most in my diary this sum- 
mer, but I wasn’t, and good reason why. It 
was just a little after daylight the day after 
the last day of school, that Aunt Amelia came 
and called me and told me to get dressed 
quick, and she gave me all clean clothes to 
put on and I was frightened. I said what had 
I done and she said I had done enough. I 
was scared worse than ever. She told me to 
go down in the kitchen and I would find 
some breakfast ready. I thought I couldn’t 
eat, everything was so queer and early, but I 
did, and then I had to put on my hat and 
Uncle George said, ‘ Are you ready ? ’ I said 
where am I going, is it reform school, and 
Aunt Amelia said it ought to be, and then I 
got in a carriage with Uncle George and the 
driver put a little new trunk on behind and 
we drove to the depot. 

“ It was awful early and the grass and the 
trees looked queer and the birds were singing 
like everything. Uncle George told me to 
cheer up, I was going to a nice place where I 
would have a good time, and he told me to 
write to him every week and he would write 


MAEIAN’S DIAEY 


133 


to me. He said I mustn’t tell the folks where 
I was going that I was ever bad. He said he 
thought I was a pretty good little girl, and 
when he put me on the train and told the 
conductor where I was going and to take care 
of me, because I was his little girl, I put my 
arms around his neck and kissed him good- 
bye. He is a good man. I hope he is my 
uncle, but I don’t know. 

“ Well, I had a nice time in that village 
where I went and Uncle George came after 
me yesterday. I was glad to see him, but I 
didn’t want to come home. I wanted to stay 
and go to the country school, but he said that 
my grandchildren would want their grand- 
mother to know something. 

“ Then he told me he found my diary and 
that he put it away where nobody could see it 
until 1 got back. He said he thought he had 
better tell me to keep my diary out of sight, 
because that v^as the style among diary- 
writing folks. So I will hide my diary now. 
I wonder if he read it. Anyway, I know 
Aunt Amelia didn’t get a chance, because he 
told me most particular about how he found 


134 


THE EATNBOW BRIDGE 


it first thing and put it where it wouldn’t get 
dusty. He says he is my Uncle George. I 
was afraid maybe I was just adopted for a 
niece, and I am not sure yet. He didn’t say 
he wasn’t my adopted Uncle George, and 
maybe he thought I was his brother’s little 
girl when I wasn’t. The folks I stayed with 
told Uncle George I am a lovely child. He 
didn’t look surprised, only glad. 

“ September 6. — All the girls had new 
dresses at school. I am in the fourth grade 
this term. I am in fractions and on the map 
of South America. We played London Bridge 
and King William at recess. 

“ September 7. — Too many things to play 
after school. Can’t write. Aunt Amelia 
makes me get straight to bed after I come to 
my room at night. It doesn’t seem like 
night, though. I don’t like to go to bed in 
the afternoon very well, but after all, I am 
glad it doesn’t get dark early. I go to sleep 
in the daytime and wake up in the daytime 
and the birds are always singing. 

“ September 8. — Nothing happened in school 
to-day. It rains and I can’t go out in the 


M ASIAN’S DIAEY 


135 


orchard. I was going to play ‘ Landing of 
the Pilgrims/ but I guess I will write in my 
diary. Where I was this summer they had a 
library, not a big one like the one down- 
stairs, but the shelves were low so I could 
reach the books, and the folks let me read all 
I wanted to. I was pretty glad of it, rainy 
days and Sundays. 

“ The book I liked best was full of stories 
about the Norsemen. They gave me the book 
to keep. I take it way up in the top of my 
favorite apple-tree and read and read. Some- 
times I play I’m Odin and sometimes I am 
Thor. I am not so afraid of thunder since I 
read about Thor. When it thunders and light- 
ens I play I am an old Norseman and that I 
really believe Thor is pounding with his big 
hammer and that he is scaring the bad frost 
giants. I am glad Aunt Amelia says she 
never read Norse stories. If she had, she 
would call me Loki, so there’s somebody that’s 
bad she can’t say I am. 

“ What I like best is to sit in the top of the 
apple-tree and shut the book and think about 
the Rainbow Bridge that stretched from earth 


136 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

to heaven. Every one couldn’t cross, but if 
my father and my mother were on the other 
side of the shining bridge, I would look 
straight towards them and I wouldn’t look 
down and my mother would hold out her 
arms and I wouldn’t be afraid. May be the 
Rainbow Bridge is wide. I am sure it is 
when I stop to think, because the gods used 
to drive over it when they came to visit the 
earth. Perhaps they would let me cross if 
they saw me coming because it was only the 
bad giants they tried to keep out of heaven. 
Oh, dear, I guess I am a bad giant myself, 
even if I am little, because the book says, 
‘ The giants in old Norse times were not easy 
to conquer : but generally it was when they 
hid themselves behind lies and appeared to be 
what they were not that they succeeded for a 
time.’ I hid myself behind lies. 

“ September 9. — One sure thing, I will al- 
ways tell the truth as long as I live. I didn’t 
come straight home from school to-night. A 
lot of us girls went in the old cemetery and 
read what’s on the tombstones, and I didn’t 
get home early. I tried to get through the 


MAEIAN’S DIARY 


137 


gate when my aunt wasn’t looking, but that 
would have been what you call good luck. 
She took me in and said, ‘ Where have ^mu 
been ? ’ I said, ‘ In the graveyard.’ She said, 
‘ Why didn’t you stay there ? ’ I didn’t know 
what to answer so I kept still. Then my aunt 
said, ‘ You can’t go out to play,’ and that was 
all. So I am always going to tell the truth 
and feel comfortable inside, no matter what 
happens. I was more afraid of how I would 
feel when it was time to say mj^ prayers if I 
told a lie, than I was of my aunt. 

“ September 10. — I didn’t get home early 
to-night because I walked around the pond 
with Louise Fisher and Maud Brown. I 
owned up when I got home. I am not going 
to write down what happened, but it was 
worse than just being sent to your room. I 
don’t want my little grandchildren to read 
about it. I am coming straight home next 
Monday night. 

“September 11. — Aunt Amelia says I act 
worse all the time. I don’t know what I did 
that was bad to-day, but I got scolded all the 
time. 


138 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ September 12. — Went to church and Sun- 
day-school and the boys made fun of my 
shoes. They couldn’t make me cry. I should 
think I would get used to being made fun of 
because I have to wear a sunbonnet to school 
and all the other little girls wear hats. I wear 
my sunbonnet as far as my aunt can see and 
then I take it off and swing it by the strings. 
She would be angry if she knew. I would al- 
most rather be baldheaded than wear a sun- 
bonnet when all the other girls wear hats. I 
wish I could have pretty shoes for Sundays, 
but I won’t let the boys know I care. 

“ September 13. — I came straight home to- 
night. I wish school began at daylight and 
didn’t let out till dark, there is so much 
trouble at home. Uncle George says it is all 
on account of me. 

“ September 14. — I came straight home and 
got scolded. 

“ September 15. — Got scolded again. 

“ September 16. — Got scolded some more. 

“ September 17. — Got put to bed without 
any supper on account of sitting down by the 
side of the pond to watch a frog. It was a 


MAEIAN’S DIAEY 


139 


funny frog and when I had to go to bed, I 
went to sleep thinking about it. When it was 
almost dark Uncle George came and woke me 
up to give me something to eat. He didn’t 
scold. I am writing this the next morning 
for yesterday. 

“ September 18. — It was a beautiful Satur- 
day. My aunt had company and I played out 
in the orchard all day long. Ella and my 
aunt and the company went to drive in the 
afternoon so there wasn’t anybody to scold me. 
I saw the mole to-day. He came out and 
walked around a little. I guess he knew my 
aunt was gone. Everything was happy in the 
orchard. I watched a caterpillar a long time. 
He went so fast he made me laugh. I guess 
he was going home from school and wanted to 
get there in time. 

“ September 19. — This is Sunday. Uncle 
George called me in the parlor to sing for the 
company and some other folks that came. 
Aunt Amelia played on the piano and when she 
couldn’t play any more on account of a cramp 
in her wrist, they told me to sing without any 
music and I did. The company wiped away 


140 


THE EAIHBOW BEIDGE 


some tears, and she said I could sing just the 
way my father did when he was a little boy, 
and then she took me in her lap and said she 
thought I looked like my mother. I was go- 
ing to ask some questions, but my aunt said 
not to talk about some things, and then the 
company said it was going to rain, she guessed, 
and would I sing another song. I did and 
then my aunt sent me to my room, cross. I 
mean she was cross. I felt pretty bad at first 
but I got over it. 

“ September 20. — Ella says there is a picture 
of my father in the album, and she will show 
it to me first chance she gets. 

“September 21. — My aunt was away when 
I got home from school so Ella said, ‘ Now’s 
your chance,’ and we went into the parlor and 
she showed me the picture. I smiled back at 
the face because it smiled at me. My father is 
pleasant and kind. 

“ September 22. — I went in the parlor and 
looked at the picture again. I was afraid my 
aunt would come in and find me. 

“ September 23. — It happened to-day. I 
was looking at the picture and my aunt came 


M ASIAN’S DIAEY 


141 


in still and caught me. She said dreadful 
things, and I cried and I don’t know what I 
did, but she said I was saucy and she didn’t 
know what to do with me. Uncle George 
heard the noise and came in and he scolded, 
too. I never saw him so cross. I almost 
thought he was angry with Aunt Amelia, but 
of course that was not so. At last he took my 
father’s picture out of the album and gave it 
to me, and told me to keep it, and he told me 
not to go in my aunt’s parlor because she 
didn’t want me there. I knew that before, be- 
cause I wanted to take lessons on the piano 
same as Ella, and she wouldn’t let me. 

“ I am so glad I have my father’s picture. 
It is like having folks of your own to 
have a picture of somebody that was yours. 
I haven’t missed a single question in 
school on the map of South America. I 
guess that is one map I can’t forget. I wish 
I knew where my father went in South 
America. I don’t dare ask Uncle George. 
He says I am the trial of his life, and he 
doesn’t see why I don’t behave like other 
children. 


142 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ October 1.— I am getting so I don’t care 
what happens to me. I don’t come straight 
home from school any more. I always think 
I will until I get started home, and then I 
dread to come because nobody loves me and I 
will get scoldings and things anyway, so I stop 
and look at toads and frogs and have a good 
time before I get home, and sometimes noth- 
ing happens. My aunt says I tell things, but 
I don’t. What would I tell for ? I don’t 
even write sad things in my diary because I 
don’t want to make my grandchildren cry. It 
would make me feel pretty bad if I found out 
that nobody loved my grandmother. 

“ October 2. — Had a lovely time playing 
Pocahontas in the grove. 

“ October 3. — I tried to count the stars last 
night, but I couldn’t. I wonder why we don’t 
fall off the earth when China’s on top? 
Aunt Amelia says I ought to know better than 
to ask her questions. I do. 

“ October 20. — I listened to what the minis- 
ter said to-day. It was about heaven. I’ve 
got to try to be awful good on earth so I can 
surely go there. Then I guess somebody will 


MARIAN’S DIARY 


143 


love me and when I walk in through one of 
the pearly gates, the angels won’t look cross. 

“October 21. — You get tired of keeping 
your diary. I am going to write a book. 
Its name will be ‘ The Little Daughter of 
Thor.’ I guess Thor never had a little girl, 
but I am going to write it in a book that he 
did, and one day when the little girl was a 
baby and she was playing with the golden ap- 
ples, she fell right through the sky on to the 
earth. Then I am going to write about how 
the little girl watched for the Rainbow Bridge. 
She was a little stray child on earth, and even 
the giants were kind to her. Of course Thor’s 
little daughter would know enough to know 
that the only way home was over the blue and 
golden Rainbow Bridge that she couldn’t see 
only sometimes. 

“ At the end of the story, Thor himself will 
find the little girl and will take her in his 
chariot across the Rainbow Bridge to the 
shining bright city in the clouds where her 
mother Avill hug her pretty near to pieces. 
Maybe when I get the book done, I will 
write another about what Thor’s little daugh- 


144 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


ter did when she got home. About the songs 
she used to sing with her mother, and the 
flowers they used to pick and about every- 
thing that is happiness. It will be nicer to 
do than keeping an old diary about real 
things. 

“ The nicest looking man’s picture I ever 
saw is my father, so I am going to have him 
for Thor. My father looks kind and smiling, 
but he looks, too, as if he would know how to 
use Thor’s big hammer if the bad giants tried 
to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I think it is 
queer that I like the god of thunder so well 
that I will let him have my father’s face in my 
book. 

“ October 22. — I am going to put some last 
words in my diary, just to say that it is a 
good thing to write a book. Something 
dreadful happened after school to-night. I 
felt dreadful, nobody knows. I got over it 
though, and then because I had to stay in 
my room and have dry bread and water for 
my supper, I started my book and it was lots 
of fun. It is the best thing there is to do 
when you want to forget you are a little girl 


MARIAN’S DIARY 


145 


that nobody loves. If I live here until I am 
an old lady I presume I will turn into an 
author. 

“ If it wasn’t for the orchard and the locust 
grove and the way home from school, and 
recesses and my doll and my books, and the 
birds and the wild flowers and the lovely 
blue sky I can see from my window this 
minute, and a good many other things, I 
would wish I had died when I was a baby. 
That makes me laugh. It is a nice world to 
live in after all. A beautiful world.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


DIPHTHERIA 

Early in the winter, diphtheria broke out 
in the schools. Marian said little about it at 
home, fearing she might not be allowed to go, 
though the daily paper told the whole story. 
Why the schools were not closed was a ques- 
tion even in the long ago days when Marian 
was a child. Uncle George was indignant, 
but influenced by his wife’s arguments, he 
allowed Marian to have her way. Mrs. St. 
Claire said Marian was better off" in school 
than at home, and in no more danger of 
catching diphtheria than she would be hang- 
ing over the fence talking.to passing children. 
Marian didn’t tell her Uncle George that she 
was never allowed to speak to passing chil- 
dren. He might have kept her home. 

Weeks passed and many little ones died. 
The schoolroom became a solemn place to 
Marian. It seemed strange to look at empty 
146 


DIPHTHEEIA 


147 


seats and know that the ones who used to sit 
in them would never come to school again. 
Even the boys were quieter than ever before. 
There were no longer paper wads flying the 
minute the teacher’s back was turned, perhaps 
because the chief mischief maker’s curly 
head was missing. He was Tommy Jewel, 
and he made things lively at the beginning 
of the term. 

Marian felt that it was something to have 
known so many girls and boys who died. At 
recess in the basement she used to ask chil- 
dren from the other rooms how many of 
their number were missing. Marian felt so 
well and full of life it never entered her head 
that she might be taken ill herself, and the 
thought of death was impossible, although 
she often closed her eyes and folded her 
hands, trying to imagine her school-days 
were over. 

At home the children met but seldom after 
the outbreak of diphtheria. Marian ate her 
breakfast alone and Ella had hers when the 
little cousin had gone to school. It was 
easily possible for Mrs. St. Claire to keep the 


148 


THE EAIKBOW BEIDGE 


children entirely separate. To guard Ella 
from all danger of contagion was her daily 
care and the smell of burning sulphur was 
ever present in the house. 

One morning Marian’s throat was sore and 
she felt ill. The child dressed quickly and 
went down to tell Uncle George. Tilly the 
maid was at her home on a short visit, and 
Uncle George was building the kitchen 
fire. 

“ I’ve got the diphtheria,” announced 
Marian, and there was terror in her face. 

“ Let me look in your throat,” said Uncle 
George. “ Why it looks all right, Marian, 
just a little red.” 

“ I don’t care, I feel sick all over,” insisted 
the child, “ and I tell you now and then, I 
know I’ve got it.” 

When Aunt Amelia was called she said 
Marian imagined that her throat was sore and 
as Marian ate breakfast, she was sent to 
school. The child went away crying. She 
didn’t swing her little dinner pail around 
and around that morning just to show that 
she could do it and keep the cover on. Uncle 


DIPHTHERIA 


149 


George was inclined to call her back, but 
Aunt Amelia laughed at him. 

“ Any child,” argued Mrs. St. Claire, “ that 
could eat the breakfast she did, isn’t at death’s 
door, now you mark my words. She has let 
her imagination run away with her. Our 
darling Ella is far more apt to have diphtheria 
than that child. She w'ould be willing to 
have the disease to get a little sympathy.” 

Marian felt better out in the fresh air and 
as she met Ellen Day soon after leaving home, 
the way to school seemed short. The chief 
ambition of Marian’s school life was to sit on 
a back seat, yet from the beginning, it had 
been her lot to belong to the front row. The 
teachers had a way of putting her there and 
Marian knew the reason. It wasn’t because 
she was the smallest child in the room, al- 
though that was the truth. Tommy Jewel 
used to sit on a front seat, too, and once 
Marian had to share the platform with him. 
The teacher said they were a good pair and 
the other children laughed. Possibly the 
memory of Tommy’s mischievous face caused 
the teacher to notice how quiet Marian was 


150 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

the morning her throat was sore. The child 
sat with her elbows on her desk, her face in 
her hands, staring solemnly into space. 

“Are you ill, Marian? ” asked the teacher. 

“ No, Miss Beck,” the child answered, re- 
calling her aunt’s remarks. 

At last, conscious of pathetic eyes following 
her about the room and having heard of Aunt 
Amelia, the teacher again questioned Marian. 
“ What is the trouble, little girl ? Is there 
anything you would like to do ? Would you 
like to write on the blackboard ? ” 

Marian’s face lighted. “ I wish I could sit 
in that empty back seat all day,” she eagerly 
suggested. 

The teacher smiled. “ You may pack your 
books, Marian, and sit there until I miss you 
so much I shall need you down here again.” 

Marian knew what that meant. “ I’ll be 
awful good,” she promised. “ I mean. I’ll be 
ever so good.” 

So Marian sat in a back seat that last day 
and in spite of her sore throat and headache, 
she was happy. It was triumph to sit in a 
back seat. She was glad the children looked 


DIPHTHERIA 


151 


around and smiled. They might get bad marks 
for turning their heads, to be sure, but what 
of it? At recess Marian walked across the 
schoolroom once or twice, then returned 
to her seat. At noon she refused to go to 
the basement with the children to eat her 
luncheon. In fact, she couldn’t eat. Marian 
wondered why time seemed so long. 

When the history class was called to the 
recitation seat early in the afternoon, one 
little girl was motionless when the signals 
were given. 

“ Marian Lee’s asleep,” volunteered the 
child who sat in front of her. 

At that, Marian raised her head and stum- 
bled to her class. 

“ Don’t you feel well ? ” asked the teacher. 

Marian shook her head. Her cheeks were 
crimson. She had never felt so wretched. 

“ Don’t you think you had better go 
home ? ” continued Miss Beck. 

“ Oh, no,” answered the child in tones of 
alarm. “ Oh, she wouldn’t let me come home 
befoi'e school is out.” 

“ There, there, don’t cry,” begged the 


152 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


teacher. “ You may go back to your seat if 
you wish.” 

Marian did so and was soon asleep again. 
At recess she awoke to find herself alone in 
the room with Miss Beck. 

“ You had better go home, dear,” the teacher 
urged. “ I am sure you are ill. Let me help 
you put on your coat and hood.” 

“ I can’t go home until school is out,” and 
Marian began to cry. 

“ Why not?” 

“ Because on account of my aunt. She 
wouldn’t let me come home.” 

“ But you are ill, Marian.” 

“ She won’t let me be sick,” was the sobbing 
reply, “ and I don’t dare go home. You don’t 
know my aunt. I guess I feel better. I want 
to go where it isn’t so hot.” 

The teacher was young and hopeful. “ Per- 
haps you will feel better if you go out to 
play,” was her reply. 

Instead of going out of doors, Marian went 
into the basement and joined in a game of 
blind man’s bulf. Only a few minutes and 
she fell upon the floor in a dead faint. When 


DIPHTHERIA 


153 


the child opened her eyes she found herself 
the centre of attraction. The basement was 
quiet as though the command had been given 
to “ Form lines.” A strange teacher was 
holding Marian and Miss Beck was bathing 
her face with a damp handkerchief. Her 
playmates stood about in little groups, whis- 
pering the dread word “ Diphtheria.” Miss 
Beck came to her senses and ordered the chil- 
dren into the fresh air. How to send Marian 
home was the next question. The child lis- 
tened to the various suggestions and then, 
struggling to her feet declared that she would 
walk home alone. She couldn’t imagine what 
her aunt might say if she did anything else. 

The child had her way. Through the gate 
and down the road she went alone. The jour- 
ney was long and the wind was cold. The 
little feet were never so weary as that De- 
cember day. It seemed to Marian that she 
could never reach home. Finally she passed 
the church. Seven more houses after that, 
then a turn to the right and two more houses. 
If she dared sit down on the edge of the side- 
walk and rest by the way, but that wouldn’t 


154 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


do. “ I could never stir again,” she thought 
and plodded on. 

At last she reached her own gate and saw 
Ella at the window. Would Aunt Amelia 
scold ? It would be good to get in where it 
was warm, anyway. Oh, if Aunt Amelia 
would open the front door and say, “ Come in 
this way, Marian,” but she didn’t and the 
child stumbled along a few more steps to the 
back entrance. She was feeling her way 
through the house when Aunt Amelia stopped 
her in the dining-room. 

“ Don’t come any further,” said she. “ I 
have callers in the parlor. What are you 
home in the middle of the afternoon for?” 

“ I’ve got the diphtheria,” the child replied, 
and her voice was thick. 

Aunt Amelia made no reply but returned 
immediately through the sitting-room to the 
parlor. 

“ I guess she knows I’m sick now,” Marian 
whispered as she sank into a chair by the 
table and pushed her dinner pail back to make 
room for her aching head. The callers left. 
Marian heard the front door open and close. 


DIPHTHEEIA 


156 


Then Aunt Amelia hastily entered the din- 
ing-room, threw a quantity of sulphur upon 
the stove and went back, closing the door be- 
hind her. Another door closed and Marian 
knew that her aunt was in the parlor with 
Ella. 

The child choked and strangled and called 
to her aunt. She tried to walk and couldn’t 
stand. The fumes of burning sulphur grew 
stronger and stronger. The air was blue. 
Marian became terrified as no one replied to 
her calls, but in time a merciful feeling of rest 
and quiet stole over her and her head fell for- 
ward upon the table. 

For a long time she knew nothing. Then 
came dreams and visions. Part of the time 
Marian recalled that she was home from school 
early and that she had not taken off her hood 
and coat. Again she wondered where she was 
and why it was so still. Then came an awful 
dread of death. Where was everybody and 
what would become of her ? The thought of 
death aroused Marian as nothing else had 
done. Would she be left to die alone ? She 
remembered that some of her schoolmates 


156 


THE EAIHBOW BEIDGE 


were ill with diphtheria but a few hours before 
the end came. Where was Aunt Amelia? 
Had she gone away from the house ? Marian 
could not lift her head and when she tried to 
call her aunt her voice was a smothered whis- 
per. What she suffered before her uncle came 
was a story long untold. Things happened 
when Uncle George walked into the house. 
He aired the room and there was wrath in his 
voice as he demanded explanations. 

“ Have patience a minute more, little girl, 
and it will be all right,” he said to Marian, as 
he brought a cot into the room and quickly 
made a bed. Then he undressed her, put her 
in bed and grabbed his hat. 

“ Oh, don’t leave me,” begged Marian, 
“ please don’t. Uncle George, I’m awful sick 
and I’m afraid when I’m alone.” 

“ I’m going for the doctor,” was the reply ; 
“ lie still and trust Uncle George.” 

The man was gone but a moment and soon 
after he returned, the doctor came. It was 
no easy matter to look in Marian’s throat. It 
needed more than the handle of a spoon to 
hold down the poor little tongue. 


DIPHTHEEIA 


167 


“ Am I going to die right off? ” demanded 
the child. “ Oh, if I can only live I’ll be so 
good. I’ll never do anything bad again. Tell 
me quick, have I got to die to-night? ” 

For a time it seemed useless to try to quiet 
the little girl. “ Oh, I’m afraid to die,” she 
moaned, “ I don’t dare to die. Aunt Amelia 
says I won’t go to heaven and I’m afraid. I 
don’t want to tell what she does say. Oh, 
Uncle George, don’t let me die. Tell the doc- 
tor you want me to get well. Tell him I’ll 
be good.” 

Uncle George sat down and covered his 
face with his hands when Marian told him 
she couldn’t hear what he said, that it was 
dark and she wanted more light so she could 
see his face that she might know if he was 
angry. Then she called for Aunt Amelia, 
and Aunt Amelia would not come ; she was 
afraid of the diphtheria. 

“ But if I’m going to die, I’ve got to tell 
her,” cried the child, clutching at the air, and 
it was some time before Uncle George under- 
stood. 

“ Child, child, don’t speak of cookies,” he 


158 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


begged, “ that was all right long ago ; ” but 
the assurance fell upon unheeding ears. 

The nurse came and went up-stairs to pre- 
pare a room for Marian. The woman’s ap- 
pearance convinced the child that there was 
no hope — she was surely going to die. Uncle 
George groaned as he listened to her ravings. 

At last the doctor put down his medicine 
case and drew a chair close beside the cot. 
He was a big man with a face that little chil- 
dren trusted. He took both of Marian’s small, 
burning hands in one of his and told her she 
must look at him and listen to what he had 
to tell her. Uncle George moved uneasily. 
He thought the doctor was about to explain 
to Marian that unless she kept more quiet, 
nothing would save her, she would have to 
die. The man was surprised when he heard 
what the kind physician said. He talked to 
Marian of the friend of little children and of 
the beautiful home beyond the skies. Nor 
would he allow her to interrupt, but patiently 
and quietly told her over and over that the 
One who took little children up in His arms 
and blessed them, didn’t ask whether they 


DIPHTHEEIA 


159 


were good or bad. He loved them all. The 
sins of little children were surely for- 
given. 

The troubled brain of the child grasped the 
meaning at last. There was nothing to fear. 
She closed her eyes and was quiet for a few 
moments. When she began to talk again, it 
was of summer mornings and apple-blossoms, 
of the wild birds and the chipmunk that lived 
in the locust grove. Many days passed before 
Marian realized anything more : then she 
knew that Uncle George took care of her 
nights and the nurse came every morning. 

“Where is my aunt?” asked the child. 
“ Doesn’t she come up here? ” 

“ Your aunt and little cousin,” replied the 
nurse, “ stay by themselves in the front part 
of the house down-stairs. They are afraid of 
the diphtheria.” 

Marian stared at the wall. She was glad to 
know there was no danger that Aunt Amelia 
might walk in, but somehow it seemed better 
not to tell the nurse. 

“ Am I going to die ? ” she asked. 

The question came so suddenly the nurse 


160 


THE EAINBOW BKIDGE 


was taken by surprise. “ Why — why we hope 
not,” was the reply. 

Something in the tones of the woman’s 
voice impressed the truth upon Marian’s mind. 
She was far more likely to die than to live. 
“ I only wanted to know,” she remarked, 
“ I’m not afraid any more. I only hope I 
won’t be a grown up angel the first thing. I 
should like to be a little girl with a mother 
and live in one of the many mansions for a 
while, like other children. I’d pick flowers in 
the front yard.” 

Soon after, the child fell asleep. When she 
awoke she was delirious, talking continually 
about the Rainbow Bridge. The doctor came, 
but it was hours before the Rainbow Bridge 
faded away and Marian was quiet. That was 
the day the little pilgrim seemed near the 
journey’s end. Until sunset. Uncle George 
watched each fluttering breath. In the silent 
room below, Ella wept bitterly and Aunt 
Amelia waited to hear that the little soul was 
gone. She waited calmly, declaring that she 
had done her duty by the child up-stairs. 

Marian lived. A few weeks more and Aunt 


DIPHTHEEIA 


161 


Amelia heard her ringing laugh and knew 
that she was happy. At last Marian was well 
enough to leave her room but it was days and 
days after the house was fumigated before she 
was allowed to see Ella or sit at the table with 
the family. Everything seemed changed. 
The rooms were brighter and more cheerful. 
The pictures bn the walls had a different 
meaning. The very chairs looked new. 
Nothing appeared just as Marian left it. 
Even Aunt Amelia was better looking and 
spoke more kindly to the child. Nothing was 
ever the same after Marian had diphtheria. 
She never returned to the little back room 
where she was away from all the family at 
night, nor did she ever again doubt that Uncle 
George was her own uncle. 

Many bright days crowded one upon an- 
other during the remaining weeks of winter. 
The neighbors invited Marian to their homes 
and took her driving with them. Dolly 
Russel’s mother gave a house party for her, in- 
viting little girls from the country for a week 
in town. That was the time Marian was so 
happy she almost believed herself a princess 


162 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


in a fairy tale. When she was home again, 
the child added a line to her diary. 

“ February 29. — I had diphtheria this 
winter and it was a good thing. I got well 
and now I am having the best time that ever 
was written down in a diary. I have changed 
my mind about being an author. I won’t 
have time to write books. There is too much 
fun in the world.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS 

Once in a great while Marian and Ella had 
a chance to play together. These rare occa- 
sions were times of joy. 

Mrs. St. Claire usually took Ella with her 
wherever she went, but sometimes she was 
compelled to leave the child at home with her 
father or Tilly, and there w^as merriment in 
the house. The little cousins had gay times 
and their only regret was that such hours of 
happiness were few. At last Marian thought 
of a plan. Her new room was opposite Ella’s. 
As Aunt Amelia insisted upon sending Marian 
to bed at seven. Uncle George declared that 
early hours were necessary for Ella’s welfare. 
Accordingly, both children went to their 
rooms at the same time with instructions not 
to talk. No one cautioned them not to sing 
and singing was one of Marian’s habits. After 
listening to the solos a few nights, Ella tried 
163 


164 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


a song of her own and that gave Marian an 
idea. She listened until Ella stopped for 
breath and then expressed a few thoughts to 
the tune of “ Home, Sweet Home.” 

“ O-oh, I know what will be great fnn 
And I’ll tell you what it is, 

We will play go to gay old concerts. 

And take our ehildren too. 

“ First the other lady 
Can sing a good long song. 

And then it will be my turn next, 

And I’ll sing a song myself. 

“ Fun fu-un-fuu, fun-fun, 

I guess it will be fun-fun, 

I guess it will be fun.” 

It was fun. The other lady took the hint 
quickly. She and her children went to 
the concert without waiting to get ready. 
Furthermore she left herself sitting beside her 
children in the best seat in the hall and at the 
same time took her place on the stage. She 
even went so far as to become a colored man 
while she sang 


“ Way down upon the Suwanee River.” 


MUSICAL CONVEKSATIONS 1G5 

Ella’s mother came up-stairs for something 
as the gentleman was rendering this selection 
with deep feeling, but she had no idea that 
her little daughter was singing on the stage, 
nor did she know that the greatest soprano in 
America was the next performer, although she 
did hear Marian begin in tragic tones, 
“ ‘ There is a happy land, far, far away.’ ” 
“ Far, far away ” was tremulous with emo- 
tion. 

From that hour dated many a concert, and 
after the concerts, the ladies continued to sing 
everything they had wished to talk over dur- 
ing the day. Often the musical conversations 
were cut short by an admonition from the 
hall below, but even Tilly never learned the 
nature of those evening songs. As the chil- 
dren disturbed nobody and were put to bed 
long before they were sleepy. Uncle George 
said, “ Let them sing.” In this way Marian 
and Ella became well acquainted. 

One night Marian asked Ella if she knew 
anything about how she happened to be taken 
to the Little Pilgrim’s Home when she was a 
baby. 


166 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


l^o-o-Oy^^ replied Ella in shrill soprano, 

“ They won^t tell-ell me-e a thing now-ow days 

But a long time ago-go 

They used to talk about everything 

Eight before me-e, only the trouble is-s, 

I was such a little goo-oose 
I didn’t think much about it.” 

^‘Do you know anything about my mother-other- 
other ^ ” 

Chanted the musician across the hall. 

‘^No-o-o,” was the response, 

I only know-o that my mother-other 
Didn’t know your mother-other, ever in her li-ife. 

But I do-oo remember-ember that the folks at that 
Ho-o-me 

Had some things that used to belong-long 
To your mother-other. 

And they are packed away-way somewhere in the 
house. 

I guess they are in the attic-attic, 

But of course I don’t know-o. 

Once I saw-aw a picture of your mother-other 
But I don’t remember-ember 
What she looked like, looked like-looked like. 

Don’t you wi-ish your mother wasn’t dead? 

If you had a mother-other 
I could go to your hou-ouse 
And your mother-other 
Would let us play together-ether.” 


MUSICAL CONVEESATIONS 


167 


“Yes, yes, she would,” Marian’s voice chimed in. 

She would let as play-ay 
All the day-ay. 

And sometimes I thi-ink my mother is ali-ive. 

And if she is, won’t I be gla-ad. 

If I do find my mother-other 
And I go to live with her-er. 

Why, may be your mother-other will die-i 
And then you can come and live with u-us 
And won’t that be gay-ay. 

You never know what’s going to happen in this 
world.” 

“What kind of a song are you singing?” 
called Aunt Amelia. 

“ Opera house music,” replied Marian, who 
feared that concerts were over for the season 
when she heard the question. 

“ I thought,” responded Aunt Amelia, 
“ that a lunatic asylum was turned loose. 
Don’t let me hear another sound to-night.” 

The musicians laughed softly, and there 
were no more solos that evening. 

The following day Ella and Aunt Amelia 
went visiting and in the middle of the fore- 
noon, when Tilly was busily working in the 
kitchen, Marian climbed the attic stairs with 
determination in her eye. An old portrait of 


168 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

George Washington on the wall at the land- 
ing seemed to question her motives. “ Don’t 
worry, Mr. Washington,” remarked the child, 
“ I’m not going to tell a lie, but sir, I’m look- 
ing for my mother and I’m going to find her 
if she’s here.” Marian gazed steadily at the 
face in the old oaken frame, and meeting with 
no disapproval there, passed on, leaving the 
Father of her Country to guard the stairway. 

There were numerous trunks, boxes, barrels 
and an old sea-chest in the attic. Marian 
hesitated a moment before deciding to try the 
yellow chest. Her knees shook as she lifted 
the cover. At first she was disappointed ; 
there seemed to be nothing but blankets in 
the chest. Then a bit of blue silk peeping 
from beneath the blankets caught her eye and 
Marian knew she was searching in the right 
place. From the depths of the chest she drew 
forth a bundle, unfolded it and beheld a beau- 
tiful gown of pale blue silk, trimmed with 
exquisite lace. Tears filled her eyes as she 
touched the shimmering wonder. She had 
never seen anything like it. 

“ This was my mother’s,” she whispered, and 


MUSICAL CONVEKSATIONS 


169 


kissed the round neck as she held the waist 
close in her arms. “ She wore it once, my 
mother.” Marian would gladly have looked 
at the dress longer but time was px*ecious and 
there was much to see. Embroidered gowns 
of purest white, bright sashes and ribbons 
were there, and many another dainty belong- 
ing of the woman whose name Avas never 
mentioned in the presence of her child. In a 
carved ivory box, were jewels. Marian closed 
it quickly, attracted by a bundle at the bottom 
of the chest. She had found it at last. The 
picture of her mother. It was in an oval 
frame, wrapped in a shawl of white avooI. 

“ Oh, if I had her, if she could only come 
to me,” cried Marian, as the lovely face be- 
came her OAvn. Though the child might 
never again see the picture, yet would it be 
ever before her. 

When she dared stay in the attic no longer, 
Marian kissed the picture, wrapped it in the 
white shawl and laid it tenderly away. As 
she did so she noticed for the first time a 
folded neAvspaper on the bottom of the chest. 
Inside the paper was a small photograph. 


170 THE EAINBOW BKIDGE 

Marian tiptoed to the attic stairs and listened 
a moment before she looked at the photo- 
graph. Then she uttered a low exclamation 
of delight. There was no doubt that the face 
in the oval frame was her mother’s, for the 
small picture was a photograph of Marian’s 
father and a beautiful woman. “ It’s the same 
head,” whispered the child, “ and oh, how 
pretty she is. I am so glad she is my mother ! 

“ I wonder what they saved an old news- 
paper so carefully for ? ” continued Marian. 
“ Maybe I had better look at it. What does 
this mean ? ‘ Claimed by Relatives,’ who was 

claimed, I wonder? Oh! I was 1 Now I’ll 
find out all I want to know because, only see 
how much it tells ! ” 

Marian laid the photograph down and read 
the article from beginning to end. She didn’t 
see George Washington when she passed him 
on the landing on the way down-stairs and 
for the rest of the day the child was so quiet 
every one in the house marveled. There were 
no concerts that evening. The leading so- 
prano had too much on her mind. The fol- 
lowing morning Marian sharpened her lead 


MUSICAL CONVEESATIONS 


171 


pencil and opened her diary. After looking 
for a moment at the white page she closed the 
book. 

“ No use writing down what you are sure to 
remember,” she remarked, “ and besides that, 
it is all too sad and finished. I am going out- 
doors and have some fun.” Marian was in the ' 
back 3’^ard watching a cricket, when Ella saun- 
tered down the path singing, “ Good-morning, 
Merry Sunshine.” 

“ Where are you going, sweetheart? ” called 
her mother from the kitchen window. 

“Just down here by the fence to get some 
myrtle leaves,” Ella replied and went on sing- 
ing. 

Marian bent over the cricket nor did she 
look up although Ella gave her surprising in- 
formation as she passed. 

“If I were you, Miss Marian Lee, 

ril tell you what I’d do, 

I’d pack my doll and everything I wanted to take 
with me. 

Because in the very early morning, 

You’re surely going away 

To a country town where you will stay 

Until school begins again. 


172 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


I knew they were going to send you somewhere, 
But I didn’t know just when, 

Until I just now heard my father and mother 
Both talking all about it. 

I know you’ll have a pretty good time, 

I wish I were going too. 

But maybe you’ll find some girls to play with, 

I’m sure I hope you do.” 

Marian smiled but dared not reply, espe- 
cially as the singer broke down and laughed 
and Aunt Amelia knew there were no funny 
lines in Good-morning, Merry Sunshine.’^ 
The hint was enough. Marian straightened 
her affairs for a journey and a long absence 
from home. 


CHAPTER XV 


LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION 

Marian asked no questions the following 
morning until she was on her way to the sta- 
tion with Uncle George. “ Where am I go- 
ing?” she finally ventured. 

“ Where you passed the summer last 
year,” was the reply. “ How does that suit 
you?” 

“ Suit me,” repeated Marian, “ nothing ever 
suited me better. I’m pretty glad I’m going 
there. Why didn’t you send me back to 
school, Uncle George? School won’t be out 
for two months. I’m glad you didn’t, but 
why ? ” 

“ Well, sis, you told me you wanted to go 
to the country school.” 

“ Yes, but ” 

“ Now’s your chance,” interrupted the man, 
“ learn all you can and try to do some one 
173 


174 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


thing better than any one else in school, will 
you?” 

“ Well, but Uncle George, big boys and big 
girls go to country schools.” 

“ What of it, Marian ? You do some one 
thing better than any one else in school, and 
when you come home this fall you may 
choose any book you wish at the book store, 
and I will buy it for you.” 

“ But, Uncle George, how will you know 
whether I really do something better than 
any one else or not ? ” 

“ I’ll take your word for it, Marian.” 

“ My word is true,” the child remarked 
with dignity. 

“ No doubt about it,” added Uncle George, 
turning away to hide a smile. 

Just as the train pulled into the station, 
Marian caught a glimpse of a small blue but- 
ter-fly. It fluttered away out of sight as Uncle 
George said “ good-bye.” “ Oh, I hate to 
leave that butterfly,” exclaimed Marian, and 
those were the last words Uncle George heard 
as he left her. The passengers smiled, but 
Uncle George looked thoughtful. There was 


LITTLE SISTEE TO THE DANDELION 175 


SO much to be seen from the car windows and 
so many folks to wonder about “within the 
car, the journey seemed short. 

Two young ladies welcomed Marian at the 
train, hugging and kissing her the minute 
the small feet touched the platform. “ I 
guess folks will think you’re some relation to 
me,” laughed the child. 

“ So we are,” replied Miss Ruth Golding. 
“ We are your cousins.” 

“ Certainly,” agreed Miss Kate, “ your 
Uncle George knew us when we were little 
girls, so of course we are your cousins.” 

“ Of course ! ” echoed Marian, “ and I 
know my summer of happiness has begun 
this day in April.” 

“ Your troubles have begun, you mean,” 
warned Miss Ruth ; “ the school-teacher 

boards with us and you’ll have to toe the 
mark.” 

“ Oh, goody ! ” exclaimed Marian. “ I can 
walk to school with her.” 

“ You won’t say ‘ goody ’ when you see the 
lady,” predicted Miss Kate. “ She’s as sober 
as a judge, very quiet, and keeps to herself.” 


176 THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 

“ What’s the matter with her ? ” asked 
Marian. 

“ She’s lived in the city all her life and 
eaten books,” explained Ruth. “ She eats 
them, Marian, covers, binding, pictures and 
everything. Too bad, but maybe you’ll get 
used to it. Here is mother coming to meet 
you, and here comes Carlo.” 

Marian ran ahead to throw her arms 
around Mrs. Golding’s neck. “ I am so glad 
they sent me back to you,” she cried. “ I 
didn’t say anything about it to my aunt 
because she would have sent me somewhere 
else. It doesn’t do to let her know when 
you’re too happy. She isn’t a bit like you, 
not a bit.” 

“ No, I think not,” was the response. 
“ You see, dear, your neighbor, Mrs. Russel, 
is one of my old friends, and she has told 
me so much about your aunt I feel as if I 
know her. I am sure we are not alike.” 

“ Why, I should say not ! ” laughed Ma- 
rian. “Why she’s as thin as — as knitting 
needles, and you’re as plump as new pin 
cushions. Won’t we have fun this summer, 


LITTLE SISTEE TO THE DANDELION 177 

though ? Well, Carlo, old fellow. Didn’t 
forget Marian, did he ? Nice old doggie.” 

“ Down, sir ! ” Mrs. Golding commanded. 
“ He is so glad to see you, Marian, he can’t 
express his feelings without trying to knock 
you over.” 

“ I wish Uncle George owned a dog,” com- 
mented Marian ; “ there’d always be some one 
glad to see you when you got home. I like 
dogs. Does the teacher come home at noon, 
Mrs. Golding?” 

“ No, sometimes we don’t see her until 
supper time. She won’t be such jolly com- 
pany for you as my girls. She’s too quiet.” 

“ Is she cross, Mrs. Golding? ” 

“ No, oh, no indeed.” 

“ Then I shall like her,” was the quick 
reply. 

There were callers in the late afternoon, so 
Marian wandered out alone. She had gone 
but a short distance down the lane when she 
saw dandelions ahead. She gathered a hand- 
ful of the short-stemmed blooms and walked 
on. In the distance she heard a bluebird 
singing. Marian ran to find it and was re- 


178 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

warded by a flash of glorious blue as the bird 
sought a tree across the river, Marian fol- 
lowed it as far as she could, being obliged to 
stop at the river’s bank. As she stood gazing 
after the bird, she was startled by a woman’s 
voice. 

“ What have you in your hand, little girl ? ” 

Turning, Marian saw a young lady sitting 
on a log near by. “ Just dandelions,” the 
child replied, and would have hidden the 
bunch behind her if the young lady had not 
forbidden it. 

“ We all love dandelions, little girl,” she 
said ; “ come and show them to me.” 

Marian wonderingly obeyed. 

“ Did you ever look at a dandelion through 
a microscope?” continued the young lady. 

“ No, I never did.” 

The stranger passed Marian a microscope 
and asked her to tell what she saw, 

“ Oh, I never knew a dandelion was like 
this,” said Marian ; “ why there are a thou- 
sand little blossoms in it all crowded together, 
and they are the goldenest golden ever was ! 
Oh, oh, oh ! Wasn’t it lucky you were here 


LITTLE SISTEE TO THE DANDELION 179 


so I could see through your microscope ? 
What if I had never seen that dandelion ! ” 

“ Would you like to borrow the microscope 
often?” asked the young lady, smiling so 
pleasantly Marian straightway decided that 
she was pretty. 

“ Well, I should say yes, Miss — Miss — you 
see I don’t know what your name is ? ” 

“ Oh, that’s so, I am Miss Smith, Miss Vir- 
ginia Smith. Who are you ? ” 

“ My name,” was the reply, “ is Marian Lee, 
but who I am I don’t really know.” 

Miss Smith repressed her curiosity, believ- 
ing that Marian was the little girl the Gold- 
ings were to meet that day. 

“ It’s everything to have a name,” said she. 

“ Yes, but I’d like some relatives,” Marian 
explained, “ some real sisters and cousins and 
aunts of my own.” 

“Why don’t you do as Hiawatha did?” 
Miss Smith suggested. 

“ You mean play all the birds and squirrels 
are my brothers and sisters ? I think I will. 
I’ll be little sister to the dandelion.” 

Miss Smith laughed with Marian. “ I’ll do 


180 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


the same thing,” said she, “ and if we are sis- 
ters to the dandelion, you must be my little 
sister and I’m your big sister and all the wild 
flowers belong to our family.” 

“ It’s a game,” agreed Marian. “ I suppose 
little Indian children picked dandelions in 
the spring-time before Columbus discovered 
America.” 

“ There were no dandelions then to pick,” 
Miss Smith remonstrated. “The plant was 
brought here by white men. Its name is 
from the French, meaning lion’s tooth.” 

“ I don’t see anything about a dandelion 
to mean lion’s tooth,” objected Marian ; “ do 
you ? ” 

“ No, I don’t, Marian, nor does any one 
know exactly how it came by its name. Some 
believe it was given to the plant because its 
root is so white ; then again, in the old days 
lions were pictured with teeth yellow as dande- 
lion blossoms. The explanation I like best is 
that the dandelion was named after the lion 
because the lion is the animal that used to 
represent the sun, and all flowers named after 
him are flowers of the sun.” 


LITTLE SISTEK TO THE DANDELION 181 


“ Do you know anything more about dande- 
lions?” questioned Marian. 

“ If I don’t,” said Miss Virginia Smith, 
smiling as she spoke, “ it isn’t because there 
is nothing more to learn. Did you ever hear 
the dandelion called the shepherd’s clock ? ” 

“ No, Miss Smith, never. Why should they 
call it that? ” 

“ Because the dandelion is said to open at 
five and close at eight.” 

“ Well ! ” exclaimed Marian, “ I guess you 
could write a composition about dande- 
lions.” 

“ Possibly,” was the laughing response. 
“ As far as that goes, Marian, there isn’t a 
thing that grows that hasn’t a history if you 
take the time and trouble to hunt it up.” 

“ Skunk cabbages ? ” suggested Marian. 

“ Yes, ‘ skunk cabbages,’ ” was the reply. 
“ What flowers do you suppose are related 
to it?” 

“ I don’t know, unless Jack-in- the-pulpit, 
maybe, is it? ” 

“ That’s right, guess again.” 

“ ril have to give up, Miss Smith. I never 


182 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

saw anything except Jack-in- th e-pulpit that 
looks a bit like old skunk cabbage.” 

“ The calla lily, Marian, what do you think 
of that ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Miss Smith, but such things 
happen, of course, because Winnie Raymond 
has a horrible looking old Uncle Pete, and 
Winnie’s awful pretty herself. But how do 
you know so much about plants ? ” 

“ By reading and observation, Marian.” 

“ Are there many books about wild flowers, 
Miss Smith ? ” 

“ More than we can ever read, little girl. 
Better than that the country around this 
village is a garden of wild flowers. Down by 
the old mill and on the hills, in the fields and 
woods and along the river bank, we shall 
find treasures from now on every time we 
take the shortest walk.” 

“ Oh, dear,” grumbled Marian, “ isn’t it too 
bad I’ve got to go to school ? ” 

“Why don’t you like to go to school, 
child ? ” 

“ At home I do, on account of recesses. I 
don’t like the school part of it much, but 


LITTLE SISTEE TO THE DANDELION 183 

here it would be recess all the time if I could 
go in the woods with you, besides having a 
good time with the Golding girls and playing 
all day long where I don’t get scolded. Dear ! 
I wish I didn’t have to go to school, or else I 
wish they’d have lessons about birds and 
flowers and butterflies and little animals, in- 
stead of old arithmetic. I hate arithmetic.” 

“ Do you ? ” sympathized Miss Smith. 
“ That’s too bad, because we all need to under- 
stand arithmetic.” 

“ I don’t,” protested Marian. “ I don’t even 
think arithmetic thoughts.” 

“Some day, Marian, you will wish you 
understood arithmetic,” said Miss Smith. 
“ Now if you and I went for a walk and we 
saw ten crows, three song sparrows, five blue- 
birds, seven chipping sparrows and twenty- 
seven robins, and Mrs. Golding asked us 
when we got home how many birds we saw, 
I wonder how you would feel if you couldn’t 
add?” 

“ Well, but don’t you see,” interrupted 
Marian, “ I could add birds, yes and subtract 
and multiply and divide them. That’s dif- 


184 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


ferent. What I don’t like is just figures and 
silly arithmetic things.” 

“ Well, Marian, I may as well tell you now 
that I’m the school-teacher and we’ll have 
arithmetic stories about birds and fiowers and 
little animals.” 

“Oh, are you the teacher?” exclaimed 
Marian. “ I thought she was — was — different, 
you know.” 

“ Different, how ? ” 

“ Well, they told me the teacher was — was 
quiet.” 

“ So she is, usually,” agreed Miss Smith, 
“ but this afternoon she met one of her own 
folks. This little sister to the dandelion.” 

“ Won’t we have fun ! ” was Marian’s com- 
ment. 


CHAPTER XVI 


PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST 

Miss Virginia Smith knew how to teach 
arithmetic. Fractions lost their terror for 
Marian, even the mysteries of cube root were 
eagerly anticipated. History became more 
than ever a living story to the child, and geog- 
raphy was a never failing joy. On rainy 
days every stream and puddle between Mrs. 
Golding’s home and the schoolhouse was 
named, and if several Mississippi Rivers 
emptied into Gulfs of Mexico, and if half a 
dozen Niles overflowed their banks over the 
country road, what difference did it make? 
When the sun shone bright and only dew- 
drops glistened in the shade, Marian saw 
deserts and plains, mountains and volcanoes 
along the dusty way. 

For a time the game of geography became 
so absorbing Marian played it at the table, 
forming snowy peaks of mashed potatoes and 
185 


186 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


sprinkling salt upon the summits until the 
drifts were so deep, only the valleys below 
were fit to be eaten. Brown gravy was al- 
ways the Missouri River winding its way 
across Marian’s plate between banks of vege- 
tables. Ice cream meant Mammoth Cave. A 
piece of pie was South Africa from which the 
Cape of Good Hope quickly disappeared. 
However hungry Marian might be, there was 
a time when she ate nothing but continents 
and islands. 

Whatever Miss Virginia Smith tried to teach 
the country children, Marian Lee appro- 
priated for herself. She listened to all recita- 
tions whether of the chart class or the big 
boys and girls. Perhaps if Marian had 
attended more strictly to her own lessons, she 
might have made the kind of a record she 
thought would please Uncle George. As it 
was, Jimmie Black “ Left off* head ” in the 
spelling class more times than she did, the first 
month. Belle Newman had higher standings 
in arithmetic and geography, and some one 
carried off all the other honors. 

Marian, however, knew something about 


PEOFESSOE LEE, BOTANIST 187 

botany before the end of May, and she 
gloried in the fact that she could name all 
the bones in her body. Mr. Golding was 
proud of her accomplishment and once when 
she went with him to see old Bess newly shod, 
he asked her to name the bones for the black- 
smith : and the blacksmith thought it won- 
derful that a little girl knew so much. “ Yes, 
but that’s nothing,” remarked the child, “ all 
the big boys and girls in the fifth reader class 
know their bones.” 

“ Ain’t you in the fifth reader ? ” asked the 
blacksmith. 

“ No,” Avas the reply, “ I can read the whole 
reader through, but I’m not in that reader 
class. That’s the highest class in the country. 
I suppose being in the fifth reader here is like 
being in the high school at home just before 
you graduate. I won’t have to learn bones 
when I get up to the high school.” 

“And still you say that ain’t nothing,” 
protested the blacksmith. 

Marian shook her head. “ I haven’t done 
one thing in school better’n anybody else,” 
she said, “ and to do something better’n any- 


188 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


body else is all that counts. Don’t you try to 
be the best blacksmither in the country ? ” 

Old Bess flourished her tail in the black- 
smith’s face and the man spoke to her next in- 
stead of to Marian. He wasn’t the best black- 
smith and he knew it. Some years afterwards 
when he had won an enviable reputation, he 
told Mr. Golding that the first time he thought 
of trying to do unusually good work Avas when 
the little Lee girl asked him if he tried to be 
the best blacksmith in the country. 

Concerning botany, Miss Smith knew that 
Marian was interested in the wild flowers and 
had told her many a legend of wayside blooms 
when walking with her through the fields and 
across the hills : but she had no idea how much 
the child had learned from listening to the rec- 
itations of the botany class, until the Satur- 
day morning when the Avax doll went to school. 
Miss Smith happened to pass the corn-crib un- 
noticed by teacher or pupil. 

The doll Avas propped in an attitude of at- 
tention among the ears of corn. 

“ Now, little girl,” the instructor was saying, 
“ if you ever expect to amount to anything in 


PEOPESSOR LEE, BOTANIST 189 

this world, you’ve got to use your eyes and 
ears. I’m the Professor of Botany your 
mother was reading about last night, who 
knew nothing about botany until she began 
to study it. Next winter when we can’t get 
outdoors, I am going to give you lessons on 
seeds and roots and things and stems and leaves. 
The Professor of Botany has got to learn the 
names of the shapes of leaves and how to 
spell them. She really ought to own a book 
but she doesn’t, and that can’t be helped. 
You’re sure to get what you want some time 
though, if you only try hard enough, and the 
Botany Professor will get a book. You just 
wait. 

“ Don’t think, little girl, because we are 
skipping straight over to flowers this morning 
that you are going to get out of learning be- 
ginnings. We’re taking flowers because it is 
summer. Of course you know this is a straw- 
berry blossom I hold in my hand. Well, if it 
wasn’t for strawberry blossoms you couldn’t 
have strawberry shortcake, remember that. 
That’s the principal thing about strawberries. 
This little circle of white leaves is called the 


190 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


corolla. Now don’t get the calyx mixed with 
the corolla as some children do. I tell you it 
makes me feel squirmy to hear some big girls 
recite. You ought to see this flower under a 
microscope. I guess I’ll go and ask Professor 
Smith for hers.” 

Marian turned around so quickly Professor 
Smith was unable to get out of sight. The 
doll’s instructor felt pretty foolish for a 
moment, but only for a moment. 

“ Marian Lee,” said Miss Smith, “ you shall 
join the botany class next Monday morning 
and I’ll give you a book of mine to study.” 

“ What will the big girls say ? ” gasped 
Marian. 

“ About as much as your doll in there,” 
laughed Miss Smith, adding seriously, “ I 
won’t expect too much of you, Marian, but 
you may as well be in the class and learn all 
you can.” 

On Monday morning, although the big 
girls smiled and the little girls stared. Pro- 
fessor Lee became a member of the botany 
class and learned to press the wild flowers. 

“ I won’t have the most perfect lessons of 


PEOFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST 191 

anybody in the class,” Marian confided to her 
doll, “ because the big girls know so much ; 
but I’ll try and have the best specimens in my 
herbarium. I can do that, I am sure. I have 
just got to do something better than any one 
else in school before I go home.” 

The following Saturday the doll listened 
with unchanging face to a confession. “ Every 
one of the big girls can press specimens better 
than I can. Their violet plants look like 
pictures but mine look like hay. I guess 
Uncle George will be discouraged. I don’t do 
anything best. A robin is building a nest 
just outside the window where my seat is in 
school and I forgot to study my spelling les- 
son. Of course I missed half the words. It 
was the robin’s fault. She ought to keep 
away from school children.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS 

All the children in Marian’s class were 
writing in their copy-books “ Knowledge is 
Power.” The pens squeaked and scratched 
and labored across pages lighted by June sun- 
shine. The little girls’ fingers were sticky and 
boy hands were cramped. It was monotonous 
work. The “ K ” w^as hard to make and the 
capital “ p ” was all flourishes. 

Marian sighed, then raised her hand. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Miss Smith. 

“ Will you tell which one of us has the best 
looking page when we get through with 
‘ Knowledge is Power ’ ? ” 

Miss Smith consented and Marian, deter- 
mined to conquer, grasped her pen firmly and 
bent to the task. Two days later the page 
was finished and seven copy-books were piled 
upon Miss Smith’s desk for inspection. At 
first Mi.ss Smith smiled as she examined the 
192 


THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWEES 193 


various assertions that “ Knowledge is Power,” 
then she grew serious. 

“ Did you try your best, children ? ” she 
asked, whereupon five girls and two boys 
looked surprised and hurt. 

“ Well, then, I wonder w’^hat is the 
trouble ? ” continued Miss Smith. “ I am 
ashamed of your work, children, it seems as 
if you could do better.” 

“ Which is best ? ” demanded Marian. It 
made no difference how poor her copy was if 
only it was better than the others. The child 
was sorry she had asked the question when 
she knew the truth. “ I think it is pretty 
discouraging,” she said, “ when you try your 
best and do the worst.” 

“ We will begin something new,” Miss 
Smith suggested. “ Next week we will write 
compositions on wild flowers and to the one 
who does the neatest looking work, I will give 
the little copy of ‘ Evangeline ’ I have been 
reading to you. It will make no difference 
whether the compositions are long or short, 
but the penmanship must be good. Every 
one of you knows the spring flowers for we 


194 


THE RAIXBOW BRIDGE 


have had them here in school and have talked 
about them every day.” 

“Will we have to write in our copy-books 
just the same?” asked Tommy Perkins. 

“ No,” was the reply ; “ you may work on 
your compositions all the time we usually 
write in the copy-books, and remember, it 
doesn’t make a bit of difference how short 
your compositions are.” 

That was exactly what Marian did not re- 
member. At first she wrote : 

“No flower is so pretty as the anemone that 
blooms on the windy hill.” 

At recess she consulted Miss Smith. “Is 
that long enough ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, that will do,” was the reply. 

“ Is it fair if I copy off her composition ? ” 
asked Tommy Perkins, “ and practice writing 
it? I can’t make up one.” 

“That sentence will do as well as any 
other,” agreed Miss Smith. “ I simply wish 
you to write something you choose to do.” 

Marian beamed upon Tommy. “I’ll copy 
it for you,” she said. “ I don’t really think 
anemones are the prettiest flowers. Tommy, 


THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS 195 

but they are easy to write ; no ups or downs 
in the word if the flowers themselves do dance 
like fairies all the day long.” 

“ I wish’t you’d write me a composition,” 
put in Frankie Bean. 

“ I will,” assented Marian, “ after school 
calls, but now, come on out and play.” 

After recess, Marian passed Frankie a piece 
of paper upon which was written this : 

“ Clover loves a sunny home.” 

“ That’s easy, Frankie, because ‘ y ’ is the 
only letter below the line. You can say sun- 
kissed if you would rather keep it all above 
the line. If I don’t get the book, may be you 
will. I hope you won’t be disappointed, 
though. I would try if I were you. Some- 
thing may happen to me before next week, 
you never can tell.” 

Monday and Tuesday Marian wrote compo- 
sitions for the four girls to copy. They were 
more particular than the boys had been and 
their compositions Avere. longer. 

By the time Marian was ready to settle 
down to her sentence on the anemone, she was 
tired of it and determined to write something 


196 


THE EAIEBOW EEIDGE 


new. Soon she forgot all about penmanship 
and Friday afternoon found her with a long 
composition to copy in an hour. Even then, 
after the first moment of dismay, she forgot 
that neatness of work alone, would count. 

Miss Virginia Smith read the composition 
aloud. 


“ Wild Flcnvers, by Marian Lee. 

“ When you shut your eyes and think of 
wild flowers, you always want to open them 
and fly to the hills and the woods. You wish 
you had wings like the birds. 

“ In an old flower legend book that tells 
about things most folks don’t know, I found 
out what you were always sure of before you 
knew it. The anemones are fairy blossoms. 
The pink on the petals was painted by the 
fairies and on rainy nights elves hide in the 
dainty blooms. 

“ Tulips are not wild, but how can I leave 
them out when the fairies used them for 
cradles to rock their babies in. 

“ Some folks laugh at you when you hunt ' 
for four-leaved clover, but you can never see 


THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWEES 197 

the fairies without one nor go to the fairy 
kingdom. 

“ The old book says, too, that the bluebells 
ring at midnight to call the fairies together. 
I believe it because I have seen bluebells and 
have almost heard the music. I don’t believe 
they ever were witches’ thimbles. 

“ You most always get your feet wet when 
you go after marsh marigolds, but it can’t be 
helped. They are yellow flowers and live 
where they can hear the frogs all the time. 
I wonder if they ever get tired of frog con- 
certs. I never do, only I think it is mournful 
music after the sun goes down. It makes you 
glad you are safe in the house. 

“ There is one lovely thing about another 
yellow flower. It is the cinquefoil and you 
find it before the violets come if you kno^v 
where to look. On rainy days and in damp 
weather, the green leaves bend over and cover 
the little yellow blossom. The cinquefoil 
plant must be afraid its little darling will 
catch cold. 

“ If you ever feel cross, the best thing you 
can do is to go out where the wild flowers 


198 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


grow. You will be sure to hear birds sing 
and you may see a rabbit or a squirrel. Any- 
way, you will think thoughts that are not 
cross.” 

“ Evangeline ” was given to Tommy Per- 
kins. He had practiced writing the anemone 
sentence until his perfectly written words 
astonished Miss Virginia Smith. 

“ I know my writing isn’t good,” admitted 
a little girl named Marian. “ Only see how 
it goes up-hill and down-hill and how funny 
the letters are.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Marian’s letter home 

Marian’s letters to her Uncle George were 
written on Sunday afternoons. She wrote 
pages and pages about Miss Smith and the 
country school and begged him not to come 
for her in August. 

“ I haven’t done anything better than any 
one else in school yet,” she wrote, “ but I am 
learning all kinds of things and having the 
best time ever was. I want to go to the coun- 
try school until I graduate. I’ll be ready for 
college before you know it if you will only 
let me stay. 

“ I am good all the time because Mrs. Gol- 
ding says so and Miss Ruth and Miss Kate 
take me almost everywhere they go — when 
they drive to town, circuses and things and I 
have lovely times every day. 

“ I would tell you who I play with only 
you would forget the names of so many chil- 
199 


200 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

dren. When I can’t find any one else I go 
to the mill to see the miller’s boy. That isn’t 
much fun because the miller’s boy is half fool- 
ish. His clothes are always covered with 
flour and he looks like a little old miller 
himself. He jumps out at you when you 
don’t know where he is and says ‘ Boo ! ’ and 
scares you almost out of your wits, and that 
makes his father laugh. I tried to teach him 
to read but I didn’t have good luck. He read 
‘ I see the cat ’ out of almanacs and every- 
thing. 

“ The old miser died last night, Uncle 
George, and I saw him in the afternoon. 
Only think of it, I saw a man that died. 
After dinner I went to see the miller’s boy 
and he wasn’t there. His father said he was 
wandering along the river bank somewhere, 
so I stayed and talked to the miller. Pretty 
soon the boy came back making crazy mo- 
tions with his arms and telling his father the 
old miser wanted to see him quick. 

“ I went outside and watched the big wheel 
of the mill when the boy and his father went 
away, but it wasn’t any time before the boy 


MAEIAN’S LETTEE HOME 


201 


came back and said the old miser wanted to 
see me. Of course I went as fast as I could 
go, and when I got to the hut, the miller 
asked me if I could say any Bible verses, and 
if I could to say them quick because the old 
miser wanted somebody to read the Bible 
quick — quick. I thought it was queer. Uncle 
George, but I was glad I had learned so much 
out of the Bible. 

“ The old miser was all in rags and I guess 
he didn’t feel well then, because he was lying 
down on a queer old couch and he didn’t 
stir, but I tell you he watched me. I didn’t 
want to go in the hut, so I stood in the door- 
way where I could feel the sunshine all 
around me. Some way I thought that wasn’t 
any time to ask questions, so I began the 
Twenty-third Psalm right straight off. When 
I got to the end of that I was going to say the 
first fourteen verses of John, but the old miser 
raised one hand and said, ‘ Again — again,’ but 
before I got any further than ‘ The valley of 
the shadow,’ he went to sleep looking at me 
and I never saw his face so happy. It 
smoothed all out and looked different. Poor 


202 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

old miser, the boys used to plague him. The 
miller motioned to his boy and me to go away. 
I guess he was afraid Jakey would wake the old 
miser. Of course I knew enough to keep still 
when a tired looking old man dropped to 
sleep. 

“I don’t know just when the old miser 
died, Uncle George, nobody talks about it 
where I can hear a word. Mrs. Golding says 
when I grow up I will be glad that I could 
repeat the Twenty-third Psalm to a poor old 
man who hadn’t any friends. She says it 
isn’t true that he Avas a miser, he was just an 
unfortunate old man. I wonder if he A\'as 
anybody’s grandfather? You never can tell. 

“ I am Avell acquainted with all the folks in 
the village. Uncle George, and lots of times I 
go calling. There are some old folks here 
who never step outside of their houses and 
they are glad to have callers. One old blind 
W'oman knits all the time. She likes to be 
read to, real Avell. And there is one woman, 
the shoemaker’s Avife, that has six children 
that bother her so when she tries to work ; she 
says it does her good to see me coming. 


MAEIAN’S LETTEE HOME 


203 


“ Only think, Uncle George, how lonesome 
I will be when I get home where I am not 
acquainted. The only sad thing that has 
happened here all summer is that the miser 
died, and of course you know that might be 
worse. 

“ I would like to be with Miss Smith more 
than I am but she studies almost all the time. 
I don’t see what for because she knows every- 
thing, even about the stars. She likes me a 
great deal but I guess nobody knows it. You 
mustn’t have favorites when you are a school- 
teacher, she told me so. 

“ You don’t know how hard it is. Uncle 
George, to do something better than anybody 
else. You might think it would be easy, but 
somebody always gets ahead of you in every- 
thing, you can’t even keep your desk the 
cleanest. Some girls never bring in anything 
from the woods, so of course they can keep 
dusted. 

“ I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed in 
“ Your loving niece, 

“ Marian Lee.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL 

In the early morning the schoolhouse was 
a quiet place, and there Miss Virginia Smith 
went to study. No one knew why she 
worked so hard, though Marian often won- 
dered. It was her delight to please Miss 
Smith, and when the teacher waited several 
mornings until a certain mail train passed 
and the letters were distributed, Marian 
offered to stop at the post-office and get the 
mail. 

“ Are you sure you won’t lose anything ? ” 
asked Miss Smith. 

“ Sure,” promised Marian. “ You go to 
school early as you used to do and I’ll bring 
your letters when I come.” 

Usually the postmaster gave Marian some- 
thing to carry to Miss Smith, and all went 
well until a few days before school closed. 
Elizabeth Gray called for Marian that morn- 
204 


MOST TEUTHFUL CHILD IK SCHOOL 205 

ing and together they went to the post-office 
where they waited on tiptoe for the post- 
master to distribute the mail. There was one 
letter for Miss Smith, a thin, insignificant 
looking letter. 

“ That’s nothing but an old advertisement,” 
declared Elizabeth ; “ it wasn’t worth waiting 
for.” 

“ I guess you’re right,” agreed Marian, 
“ see what it says in the corner. What’s a 
seminary, anyway? Do you know ? — ‘ Young 
Ladies’ Seminary.’ Some kind of a new 
fashioned place to buy hats, may be, come 
on.” 

“ Yes, let’s get started before the Prior kids 
and the Perkinses catch up with us. I can’t 
bear that Tommy Perkins.” 

“We could play De Soto if we had a 
crowd,” suggested Marian. “ You and I 
could be the head leaders and the Priors and 
the Perkins could be common soldiers.” 

“ How do you play De Soto ? ” asked Eliza- 
beth. “ I never heard of it.” 

“ You’ve heard of De Soto, the man that 
discovered the Mississippi River, I hope.” 


206 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ Of course, he’s in the history.” 

“ Well, Elizabeth, I’ve been reading about 
him in one of Mr. Golding’s books about 
early explorations and I knew in a minute 
that it would be fun to play De Soto on our 
way to school. Now, I’m De Soto.” 

“ No, I’m going to be De Soto,” insisted 
Elizabeth. 

“ You don’t know how, Elizabeth Jane 
Gray, and you didn’t think of it first. All 
right, though, you be De Soto if you want to. 
What are you going to do ? Begin.” 

“You always want to be the head one in 
evei'ything, Marian Lee. You needn’t think 
I’m Tommy Perkins ! ” 

“ I don’t, Elizabeth, I think you’re that 
brave Spaniard Moscoso who was leader of 
the soldiers after De Soto died and was buried 
in the Mississippi River where the Indians 
couldn’t find him. But if you want to be 
De Soto, go on, only I don’t believe you 
know a thing about him except what the his- 
tory says. Well, you’re De Soto.” 

“You’ll have to tell me what to do, 
Marian.” 


MOST TEUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL 207 


“ I guess not, Miss Elizabeth, if you’re 
De Soto you ought to know.” 

Elizabeth walked on in silence for a few 
moments until seized by an inspiration. “ I’ll 
be De Soto to-morrow morning,” she remarked ; 
“ it’s your turn first, of course, because you 
thought of the game. I’m — who did you say 
I am, Marian ? ” 

“ You’re Moscoso, one of my officers, Eliza- 
beth. Well, I’m De Soto and I have had 
wonderful adventures in my life. I was with 
Pizarro in the conquest of Peru and I went 
back to Spain rich, rich, rich. Now I am the 
Governor of Cuba and Florida and not long 
ago I had orders from Spain to explore 
Florida. Of course, Moscoso, you remember 
all about it, how we left Cuba with nine ships 
and landed at Tampa?” 

“ I remember it, Soty, just as well as if it 
was yesterday,” and Moscoso, laughing mer- 
rily, swung his dinner pail in a perfect circle. 

“ Don’t laugh, Moscoso, at serious things,” 
continued De Soto ; “ and I think you really 
should call me Governor and I’ll call you 
General. Well, General, we sent most of our 


208 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

ships back to Cuba, and now we’re searching 
for gold in Florida, not in our little State of 
Florida, but the big, wide, long Florida that 
used to be. Now, Elizabeth, we’ll play wander 
around for three years, living in Indian vil- 
lages winters and camping out summers and 
having fights and discovering new birds to 
write to Spain about and having all kinds of 
adventures, until Ave get to that big ditch at 
the four corners and that will have to be the 
Mississippi River, and we’ll cross it. We can 
tie our handkerchiefs to sticks for banners. 

“ Let’s play all the trees are Indians and all 
the little low bushes are wild beasts. The 
fences will do for mountains and I guess we’ll 
think of other things to play as we go along. 
We’ll have trouble with our soldiers, of course, 
they always do when they are hunting for 
gold. All these fields and woods, no, not 
woods, forests, I mean, are what you call the 
interior. Dandelions and buttercups will be 
gold that we steal from the Indians. We’ll 
be awfully disappointed because this isn’t a 
gold country like Peru, but we will take all 
there is, and I think we had better talk some 


MOST TEUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL 209 

about going home to Spain. Of course I don’t 
know I’m going to die of fever beyond the 
Mississippi and you don’t know you’ll have 
to go back to the coast without me. I wish 
we could talk a little bit of real Spanish, don’t 
you, Elizabeth ? ” 

“ Hush,” warned the General from Spain. 
“ I hear Indians. Let’s play the wind in the 
trees is Indian talk, Marian.” 

“ Sure enough, Elizabeth, we must advance 
cautiously, General Moscoso, they always ‘ ad- 
vance cautiously ’ in the books, or else ‘ beat a 
hasty retreat.’ We won’t dare play retreat or 
we’ll never get to school. Oh, they’re friendly 
Indians, General, how fortunate.” 

De Soto had crossed the Mississippi when 
he grew pale as death and suddenly deserted 
his followers. The banners of Spain trailed 
in the dust. “ Elizabeth Jane Gray, where’s 
that letter ? ” 

Two little girls gazed at each other in 
dismay. 

“ Have you lost it? ” gasped Elizabeth. 

“ If I haven’t, where is it?” asked Marian. 

“ Can’t you remember anything about it ? ” 


210 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

Elizabeth went on, “ when you had it last, or 
anything? ” 

“ No, I can’t. Let’s go straight back over 
the road and hunt. I must have dropped it 
and perhaps we may find it if we look. I 
can’t believe it is really lost. Oh, Elizabeth, 
what shall I do if it is ? I adore Miss Smith 
and what will she think ? ” 

“ She won’t think anything if you keep 
still, Marian; the letter was only an old ad- 
vertisement, anyway.” 

“ Oh, dear, dear, dear ! ” wailed Marian. 
“ This is dreadful. I don’t see a thing that 
looks like a letter anywhere. I am going to 
climb a tree and look way off over the 
fields.” Although the children searched 
faithfully, they could not find the letter. 

“ We’ll hunt at noon,” suggested Elizabeth, 
deeply touched by Marian’s distress, “ and 
if I were you I wouldn’t say a word about it.” 

“ But Elizabeth, what if she asks me if 
there was a letter? ” 

“ Fib,” was the response. 

“ It’s enough to make anybody, Elizabeth.” 

“ You’ll be a goose, Marian, if you own up. 


MOST TEUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL 211 

I won’t tell on you and the letter didn’t 
amount to anything, anyway. Let’s run for 
all we’re worth and get there before school 
calls if we can. Sure’s we’re late she’ll ask 
questions.” 

Just as the bell was ringing, two breathless 
little girls joined their schoolmates. Their 
faces were flushed and their hair was tumbled. 
Miss Smith smiled when she saw them, but 
asked no questions. Noticing Marian’s empty 
hands, she said evidently to herself, “ No letter 
yet ! ” 

“ You’re going to get out of this as easy’s 
pie, just keep your mouth shut,” whispered 
Elizabeth. 

“ I shall have to tell,” gi’oaned Marian, 

“ Don’t be silly,” Elizabeth advised. 

During the morning exercises Marian de- 
termined to confess no matter what happened. 
When the chart class was called to the recita- 
tion seat she raised her hand and was given 
permission to speak to Miss Smith. Marian 
didn’t glance towards Elizabeth Gray as she 
walked to the desk. Elizabeth had never 
stolen cookies. “ Miss Smith,” said Marian, 


212 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ you had a letter this morning and I lost 
it.” 

“ You dear child, I am so glad you told 
me,” and Miss Smith who had so often in- 
sisted that a school-teacher must never have 
favorites, put her arms around the little girl 
and kissed the soft, brown hair. “ Now tell 
me what was printed on the envelope if you 
can remember.” 

Word for word Marian described the letter. 

It is the one I was expecting,” said Miss 
Smith, and while the chart class waited, 
their teacher wrote a letter, stamped it and 
sent it to the post-office by Tommy Perkins. 

Two days later, Marian carried Miss Smith 
a letter exactly like the one she had lost. 
Miss Smith read it, smiled and asked Marian 
to stay after school. 

“ You’re going to get your scolding at last,” 
predicted Elizabeth. “ I told you not to 
tell.” 

At four o’clock the children trooped out and 
flew down the road like wild birds escaped 
from a cage, leaving Marian uneasily twisting 
her handkerchief while she waited for Miss 


MOST TEUTHPUL CHILD IN SCHOOL 213 

Smith to speak. Nothing was said until the 
sound of childish voices came from a distance. 
Then Miss Smith looked up and laughed. 
“ Can you keep a secret for a few days, 
Marian ? ” she asked. “ Come here, dear, and 
read the letter you brought me this morning.” 

Marian read the short letter three times be- 
fore she asked, “ Are you going ? ” 

Going,” echoed Miss Smith ; “ that is the 
position I have long wished for, Marian. Only 
think how I shall enjoy teaching botany and 
English in a boarding-school. You see what 
they say, Marian, they want an immediate 
reply or it will be too late. If you hadn’t 
told me about the letter you received the 
other day, I should have lost the position. I 
imagined what the letter was and sent for a 
copy. If you hadn’t told me the truth, 
Marian, only think what a difference it would 
have made ! ” 

“ I just have to tell the truth,” said the little 
girl. 

“ I believe you, dear, I never saw a more 
truthful child in my life.” 

“ Would you dare say I am the most honest 


214 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


child in school?” asked Marian, a sudden 
light making her face beautiful. “ Will you 
write it down and sign your name ? ” 

“ Well, you are the queerest mortal,” ex- 
claimed Miss Smith, but reaching for a piece 
of paper and a pen, she wrote this : 

“ Marian Lee is the most truthful pupil in 
my school. 

“ Virginia Smith, Teacher.” 

“It’s for Uncle George,” Marian explained. 
“ He told me to try to do something better 
than anj'^body else and I haven’t done it. 
He’s coming for me Saturday and please do 
ask him to send me to your boarding-school. 
He has often talked about sending me away 
to school, but I used to be afraid to go and 
made a dreadful fuss, and then 1 had diph- 
theria.” 

Uncle George arrived on Friday in time to 
have a long talk with Miss Smith before she 
left on the evening train. Had Marian 
known the nature of their conversation, she 
might not have cried so bitterly when the 
hour of parting came. 


CHAPTER XX 


MORE CHANGES 

Marian had been home a month when 
Uncle George decided to send her to boarding- 
school. 

“ It is a curious thing,” he remarked to the 
child, “ that other people find it so easy to get 
along with you, and here at home there is no 
peace in the house while you are in it.” 

The man’s tones were savage and Marian 
cried. Tears always angered Uncle George, 
and when Uncle George was angry with 
Marian, Aunt Amelia generally sighed and 
straightway did her duty : and Aunt Amelia’s 
duty towards Marian consisted in giving a de- 
tailed account of the child’s faults and a his- 
tory of her sins. She never failed to mention 
cookies. When Marian was wise, she kept 
still. If she ventured a remonstrance serious 
trouble was sure to follow. Out in the fresh 
air and sunshine, the child managed to be 
216 


216 THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 

happy in spite of everything : but within the 
four walls of Aunt Amelia’s home it took 
courage to face life. She didn’t know that 
her uncle had written to Miss Virginia Smith. 

“ They’re going to do something with you, 
I don’t know what,” confided Ella. “ I’ll let 
you know as soon’s I find out.” Ella was as 
good as her word. “ They’re going to send 
you to boarding-school,” was her next secret 
announcement, “ but when or where, I don’t 
know.” 

One morning Marian went to her room after 
breakfast and sat long by the open window, 
wondering what would become of her and why 
she had been taken from the Little Pilgrim’s 
Home by an aunt who didn’t want her. 
Tears splashed upon the window sill. Marian 
wiped her eyes quickly. Young as she was, 
the child realized how dangerous it is to be 
sorry for oneself. Without a backward 
glance, Marian walked from the room and 
closed the door she was never to open again. 
When she came home from school that night, 
the child played in the orchard until supper- 
time. Then she wondered why Aunt Amelia 


MOEE CHANGES 


217 


didn’t send her to her room. An hour passed 
before the woman looked at the clock and 
spoke. Instead of the words Marian expected 
to hear, Aunt Amelia said calmly : 

“ Your trunk is packed and the carriage is 
waiting to take you to the station. Get your 
coat and hat.” 

“ Where am I going and who is going with 
me?” demanded the child, beginning to 
tremble so she could scarcely stand. 

“ I shall accompany you,” replied Aunt 
Amelia, “ and it makes no difference where 
you are going. You will know soon 
enough.” 

Marian shot a grateful look towards Ella, 
who was sobbing in a corner. But for the lit- 
tle cousin’s assurance, Marian would have be- 
lieved she was about to start for the long 
dreaded reform school. Nevertheless it was a 
shocking thing to be suddenly torn from every 
familiar sight and to be going so blindly into 
the unknown. Marian looked appealingly at 
Aunt Amelia and Uncle George before she 
broke down and cried. Aunt Amelia’s face 
was stony. Uncle George looked cross and an- 


218 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


noyed. Marian’s grief became wild and de- 
spairing. 

“ I wish I could have my mother’s picture 
to take with me,"” she sobbed, “ I wish I 
could.” 

“ That’s a reasonable request and you shall 
have it,” said Uncle George. 

“ It will be time enough when she is older,” 
Aunt Amelia put in, while Marian held her 
breath. Would she get the picture or not? 
A word might ruin her chances, so she kept 
still, trying hard to smother her sobs. 

“ Are you going for the picture or shall I? ” 
demanded Uncle George. Aunt Amelia went. 

Marian was disappointed when she saw the 
small photograph of her father and mother. 
She wished for the face in the oval frame. 
She would have been more disappointed had 
she never seen the photograph, because in- 
stead of giving it to the child or allowing her 
to look at the picture. Aunt Amelia wrapped 
it in a piece of paper and put it in her own 
satchel. 

Outside in the cool, silent night, Marian 
stopped crying. There was comfort in the 


MOKE CHANGES 


219 


steadily shining stars. During the first long 
hours on the sleeping car, Marian tossed, 
tumbled and wondered where she was going. 
Asleep she dreamed of reform school : awake 
she feared dreams might come true. When 
trains rushed by in the darkness the child was 
frightened and shivered at the thought of 
wrecks. At last she raised her curtain and 
watched the stars. Repeating over and over 
one verse of the poem she had recited the last 
day of school in the country, she fell peace- 
fully asleep. There were no more troubled 
dreams nor startled awakenings. When 
Marian opened her eyes in the morning, the 
verse still haunted her memory. 

“ I know not where His islands 
Lift their fronded palms in air, 

I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond His love and care.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY 

“October 15. — You might as well keep a 
diary, especially in a school where they have 
a silent hour. It is the queerest thing I ever 
heard of but every night between seven and 
eight it is so still in this building you don’t 
dare sneeze. It isn’t so bad when you have a 
roommate because then you have to divide the 
hour with her. You stay alone half and then 
you go to the reading-room or the library and 
read something and try not to whisper to any 
of the girls, while your roommate stays alone 
her half of the hour. 

“ Perhaps the reason I don’t like silent hour 
is because I used to have so many of them at 
home and now because I haven’t any room- 
mate I have to stay alone the whole hour. I 
don’t know what to do with myself and that 
is why I am going to keep a diary again. 

“ There is a good reason why I haven’t any 
roommate. When my aunt brought me here 
220 


MAEIAN EEMEMBEES HEE DIAEY 221 


the principal said they were expecting a little 
girl just my age and they were going to put 
her in this room with me. It isn’t much fun 
to be a new girl in this kind of a school, espe- 
cially when most everybody is older than you 
are. When the girls saw my aunt they stared, 
and they stared at me, too. It wasn’t very 
nice and I felt uncomfortable. As long as my 
aunt stayed I didn’t get acquainted. I didn’t 
even dare say much to Miss Smith. I just, 
moped around and wished I was out in the 
country with the happy Goldings. They said 
here, ‘ Poor little thing, she’s homesick,’ but I 
am sure I wasn’t if that means I wanted to go 
back home. My aunt stayed two days and one 
night. She said she was waiting to see my 
roommate but at last she gave up and went 
home and then I felt different. I began to 
wonder what kind of a girl my roommate 
would be and when she came I was so happy 
I could scarcely breathe because she was Dolly 
Russel. We thought we were going to have 
such a good time, and we did for a few days 
until I was a big goose. I wrote home and 
told my aunt who my roommate was and that 


222 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


ended it. Aunt Amelia wrote to the principal 
and she wrote to me, and then Dolly went to 
room with an old girl eighteen years old, from 
Kansas. 

‘ Dolly says her new roommate is nice, but 
she’s too old and besides that she’s engaged. 
Dolly told me all about it. 

“ My aunt wouldn’t let me room with Dolly 
because she said we would play all the time 
instead of studying our lessons. I guess she 
was afraid we would have a little fun. She 
told me in a letter that if she had known 
Dolly Russel was coming to this school she 
would have sent me somewhere else or kept 
me at home, no matter what Uncle George 
and Miss Smith said. I know why. Dolly 
has told the Kansas girl and some others 
about my aunt already, how cross she is and 
such things. I don’t mind now what any- 
body says about Aunt Amelia since I have 
found out that she isn’t any relation to me. 
She is just my aunt by marriage and you 
can’t expect aunts by marriage to love you, 
and if your aunt doesn’t love you, what’s the 
use of loving your aunt. 


MAEIAN EEMEMBEES HEE DIAEY 223 

“ If I hadn’t passed the entrance examina- 
tions here I couldn’t have stayed. Dolly and 
a girl whose name is Janey somebody and I 
are the only little girls here. Janey is tall 
and wears her hair in a long, black braid. 
Mine’s Dutch cut. Dolly Russel’s is Dutch 
cut too. Janey calls us little kids and she 
tags around after the big girls. We don’t 
care. 

“ October 16. — There’s another girl coming 
from way out west. Her folks are going to 
be in Chicago this winter and they want her 
in this school. The Kansas girl told Dolly 
and me. 

“ October 17. — The new girl has come and 
they have put her with me. She’s homesick. 
Her father brought her and then went right 
away. I didn’t see him. I think I shall 
like the new girl. Her name is Florence 
Weston and she has more clothes than the 
Queen of Sheba. Miss Smith helped her un- 
pack and I felt as if I would sink through 
to China when the new girl looked in our 
closet. It is a big closet and the hooks were 
nearly all empty because I haven’t anything 


224 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


much to hang up. I’ll never forget how I 
felt when the new girl said to me, ‘ Where are 
your dresses ? ’ Before I could think of any- 
thing to say, Miss Smith sent me for the 
tack hammer and I didn’t have to answer. 

“ My room looked pretty lonesome after 
Dolly moved out, but now it is the nicest 
room in school because Florence Weston has 
so many beautiful things. She says this is 
horrid and I just ought to see her room at 
home. She can’t talk about her home with- 
out crying. I know I’d cry if I had to go 
back to mine. 

“ October 20. — That Janey is a queer girl. 
She won’t look at me and I really think it is 
because I haven’t any pretty dresses. She is 
in our room half the time, too, visiting with 
Florence. They are great chums and they 
lock arms and tell secrets and laugh and talk 
about what they are going to do next summer 
and where they are going Christmas and 
everything. I wish more than ever that I 
had Dolly for my roommate. I wouldn’t be 
surprised if her father is richer’n Florence 
Weston’s father. 


MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY 225 

“ That Janey puts on airs. Her last name 
is Hopkins. She signs her name ‘ Janey C. 
Hopkins.’ She never leaves out the ‘ C,’ I 
wonder why. 

“October 21. — I like Florence Weston. 
She is not a bit like that proud Janey. 

“ November 1. — Sometimes I wish I had 
never come here to school. Once in a while 
I feel more lonesome, almost — than I ever 
did at home. It is on account of that 
Janey C. Hopkins. She wants to room with 
Florence and she tried to get me to say I 
would move in with Laura Jones, the girl she 
rooms with. Janey says she’s going to the 
principal. Let her go. Miss Smith told me 
not to worry, they won’t let chums like 
Florence and Janey room together because 
they won’t study. 

“ November 2. — What did I tell you ? I 
knew she’d be sorry. They won’t let Janey 
room with Florence. Florence says she’s 
glad of it. I suppose it is on account of 
hooks. Janey couldn’t let her have more 
than half the hooks in the closet. 

“ November 3. — It wasn’t on account of 


226 


THE EAmSOW BEIDGE 


hooks. Florence told me one of Janey’s 
secrets and I know now what the ‘ C ’ means 
in Janey’s name and I know who Janey C. 
Hopkins is, and I should think she would re- 
member me, but she doesn’t. Janey told 
Florence that she is adopted and that her 
new mother took her from the Little Pil- 
grims’ home before they moved out to Min- 
nesota. I was so surprised I almost told 
Florence I came from that same home, but I 
am glad I didn’t. 

“ The only reason Florence doesn’t want to 
room with Janey is because she lived in an 
orphan’s home. She says you never can tell 
about adopted children and that maybe 
Janey’s folks weren’t nice, and anyway, that 
if she ever lived in an orphan’s home she 
would keep still about it. 

“ I think I shall keep still, but I could tell 
Miss Florence Weston one thing, my folks 
were nice if they did die. I could tell her 
what I read in that newspaper in the sea- 
chest, how my father just would go to South 
America with some men to make his fortune 
and how after a while my mother thought he 


MAEIAN EP:MEMBEES HEE DIAEY 227 


was dead and then she died suddenly and all 
about how I happened to be taken to the 
Little Pilgrims’ Home in the strange city 
where my mother and I didn’t know any- 
body and nobody knew us. 

“ I could tell Florence Weston I guess that 
my father left my mother plenty of money 
and she wasn’t poor, and after she died the 
folks she boarded with stole it all and pretty 
near everything she had and then packed up 
and went away and left me crying in the 
flat, and it just happened that some folks 
on the next floor knew what my name was 
and a few little things my mother told 
them. 

“ I won’t speak of the Little Pilgrims’ 
Home, though, because I can’t forget how Uncle 
George acted about it. It was a pleasant, 
happy home just the same, and when I grow 
up and can do what I want to I am going 
back and hunt for Mrs. Moore and I won’t 
stop until I find her. I have missed her all 
my life. You can’t help wondering why some 
mothers live and some mothers die, and why 
some children grow up in their own homes 


228 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

and other children don’t have anybody to 
love them. 

“ November 4. — Sunday. The queer things 
don’t all happen in books. I am glad I have 
a diary to put things in that I don’t want to 
tell Miss Smith nor Dolly. Just before dark 
I was in the back parlor with a lot of girls 
singing. When we were tired of singing we 
told stories about our first troubles. I kept 
still for once, I really couldn’t think what my 
first one was anyway. Two or three girls said 
that when their mothers died, that was their 
first sorrow, but Florence Weston said that 
her first one was funny. She couldn’t re- 
member when her own father died so she 
can’t count that. The father she has now is 
a step one. 

“ Florence says she was a little bit of a girl 
when her mother took her one day to visit an 
orphan’s home and she cried because she 
couldn’t stay and have dinner with the little 
orphans. She says she remembers that one 
of the little girls wanted to go home with her 
and her mother and when she cried that little 
orphan girl cried too. They all laughed when 


MAEIAN EEMEMBBES HEE DIAEY 229 


Florence told her story, all but me. I knew 
then what my first sorrow was. What would 
Florence think if she knew I was that little 
orphan ? I must never tell her though or she 
wouldn’t room with me. I should think 
Florence would be the happiest girl in the 
world. I should be if I had her mother. I 
can see her now if I shut my eyes. Her 
hair was shining gold and her eyes were like 
the sky when the orchard is full of apple 
blossoms. 

“ November 25. — Florence has gone to 
Chicago to stay until Monday morning be- 
cause to-morrow is Thanksgiving day and her 
folks wanted to see her. Florence has two 
baby brothers and one little sister. 

“ Dolly Russel’s father and mother have 
come here to be with Dolly to-morrow and 
they have invited me to have dinner with 
them down town. I wonder what Aunt 
Amelia would say if she knew I am going to 
be with the Russels all day to-morrow. Miss 
Smith got permission for me to go, she knew 
what to say to the principal, and she kissed 
me too, right before Mrs. Russel. I am 


230 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


already beginning to dread going home next 
June. 

“ Janey C. Hopkins is going home this 
afternoon and the Kansas girl is going with 
her. There will be ten girls all alone in the 
big dining-room here to-morrow. I guess 
they will feel queer. I know one thing, I 
would rather stay here with nobody but the 
matron Christmas, than to go home, and I am 
glad Aunt Amelia says it would be foolish for 
any one to take such along journey so I could 
be home for the holidays. 

“ Mrs. Russel is going to dress me all up to- 
morrow in one of Dolly’s prettiest dresses. I 
do have some streaks of luck.” 


CHAPTER XXII 

FLORENCE WESTON’s MOTHER 

Marian was studying Monday morning 
when Florence returned from Chicago. She 
burst into the room like a wind blown rose, 
even forgetting to close the door until she had 
hugged Marian and hugged her again. 

“ Now shut your eyes tight,” she com- 
manded, “ and don’t you open them until I 
tell you to. You remember when you asked 
me if I had a picture of my mother and I said I 
hadn’t anything only common photographs ? 
well, you just wait.” 

Marian closed her eyes while Florence 
dived into her satchel for a small package. 

“ I have something in a little red leather 
case that will make you stare, Marian dear, 
you just wait.” 

“ Well, I am waiting,” was the retort, 
“ with my eyes shut so tight I can see purple 
and crimson spots by the million. Hu^ry up, 
231 


232 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


why don’t you? Is it a watch with your 
mother’s picture in it ? ” 

“ No, guess again.” 

“A locket?” 

“ Dear me, no. It is something — three 
somethings that cost forty times as much as a 
watch or locket. Now open your eyes and 
look on the bureau.” 

“Why don’t you say something?” ques- 
tioned Florence, as Marian stood speechless 
before three miniatures in gold frames. 
“ That’s my mother and our baby in the 
middle frame, and the girl on this side is my 
little sister and the boy in the other frame we 
call brother, just brother, since the baby 
came. Why Marian Lee ! I never thought 
of it before, but you look like brother just as 
sure as the world ! 

“ Why, Marian ! what’s the matter, what 
makes you cry when you look at mamma’s 
picture ? ” 

“ Nothing, Florence, only I want a mother 
myself, I always wanted one.” 

“ You poor young one ! ” exclaimed Flor- 


FLOEENCE WESTON’S MOTHEE 


233 


ence, “ it must be dreadful not to have a 
mother.” 

“ It’s like the Desert of Sahara ! ” Marian 
declared, dashing the tears from her eyes and 
making an attempt to smile. “You will see 
your mother again soon.” 

“ I know it, Marian, only think, three 
weeks more and then the holidays. Are you 
going home Wednesday night or Thursday 
morning ? ” 

“ I am not going home until June,” was the 
reply. 

“ Can you stand it as long as that, Ma- 
rian ? ” 

The mere thought of feeling badly about 
not being home for the holidays made the 
child laugh. 

“You are the queerest girl,” exclaimed 
Florence, “ you cry when I don’t see anything 
to cry about and you laugh when I should 
think you would cry.” 

Marian checked an impulse to explain. 
How could Florence understand? Florence, 
whose beautiful mother smiled from the 


234 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


round, gold frame, the girl whose sis- 
ter and brothers waited to welcome her 
home. 

“ If they were mine,” said Marian, gazing 
wistfully at the miniatures, “ I would never 
leave them. I would rather be a dunce than 
go away to school.” 

“ Then my father wouldn’t own you,” said 
Florence, laughing. “ Mamma says she’s 
afraid he wouldn’t have any patience if I dis- 
graced him in school. You ought to belong 
to him, Marian, he would be proud of you. 
You know your lessons almost without study- 
ing and you have higher standings than the 
big girls. You’ve been highest in all your 
classes so far, haven’t you ? ” 

“Yes,” was the reply, “ except in geometry, 
but what of it ? Nobody cares.” 

“ Don’t your folks at home ? Aren’t they 
proud of you ? ” 

“ I used to hope they would be, Florence ; 
but I tell you, nobody cares.” 

“ Well, haven’t you any grandfathers or 
grandmothers or other aunts or uncles ? ” 

“ I am not acquainted with them,” said 


FLOEENCE WESTON’S MOTHEE 235 

Marian. “ My uncle hasn’t any folks, only 
distant cousins.” 

“That’s just like my father,” Florence in- 
terrupted. “ His folks are all dead, though I 
have heard him mention one half brother with 
whom he wasn’t friends. Mamma won’t let 
me ask any questions about him. But, 
Marian, where are your mother’s folks ? ” 

Where were they, indeed? Marian had 
never thought of them. “ Well, you see,” the 
child hastily suggested, “ they don’t live near 
us.” 

The next time Florence saw Dolly Russel, 
she asked some questions that were gladly 
answered. “ Go home ! ” exclaimed Dolly, 
“ I shouldn’t think she would want to go 
home ! You see the St. Claires live right 
across the street from us and I have seen 
things with my own eyes that would astonish 
you. Besides that, a girl that used to work 
for the St. Claires, her name is Lala, works for 
us now, and if she didn’t tell things that 
would make your eyes pop out of your head ! 
Shall I tell you how they used to treat that 
poor little Marian ? She’s the dearest young 


236 


THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


one, too — Lala says so — only mamma has al- 
ways told me that it’s wretched taste to listen 
to folks like Lala.” 

“ Yes, do tell me,” insisted Florence, and by 
the time Dolly Russel had told all she knew, 
Florence Weston was in a high state of indig- 
nation. 

“ Oh, her uncle and her little cousin are all 
right,” remonstrated Dolly ; “ they are not 
like the aunt.” 

“ I know what I shall do,” cried Florence. 
“ Oh, I know ! I shall tell mamma all about 
Marian and ask if I may invite her to Chicago 
for the holidays. She would have one good 
time, I tell you. I like Marian anyway, she 
is just as sweet as she can be. I should be 
miserable if I were in her place, but she sings 
all the day long. My little sister would love 
her and so would brother and the baby. I 
am going straight to my room and write the 
letter this minute.” 

“ Mrs. St. Claire won’t let Marian go,” 
warned Dolly ; “you just wait and see. She 
doesn’t want Marian to have one speck of 
fun.” 


FLORENCE WESTON’S MOTHER 237 


Nevertheless Florence Weston wrote the 
letter to her mother and in due time came 
the expected invitation. At first Marian was 
too overjoyed for words : then she thought of 
Aunt Amelia and hope left her countenance. 
“ I know what I will do,” she said at last, 
“ I will ask Miss Smith to write to Uncle 
George. Maybe then he will let me go. No- 
body knows how much I want to see your 
mother.” 

Florence laughed. “ I think I do,” she said. 
“ I have told my mother how you worship 
her miniature. I shouldn’t be surprised to 
come in some day and find you on your 
knees before it. My mother is pretty and 
she is lovely and kind, but I don’t see how 
anybody could care so much for her picture. 
Most of the girls just rave over brother, but 
you don’t look at him. Just wait until you 
see him, Marian. I’ll teach him to call you 
sister. He says ‘ Ta ’ for sister.” 

“ Oh, I wish you would,” said Marian, “ I 
love babies and I never was anybody’s sister 
of course. He is just as cunning as he can 
be. I am going now to ask Miss Smith to 


238 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

write to Uncle George. She can get him to 
say yes if anybody can.” 

Miss Smith wrote and rewrote the letter, 
then waited for an answer with even less pa- 
tience than Marian. At last it came, in Aunt 
Amelia’s handwriting. Marian’s heart sank 
when she saw the envelope. Her fears were 
well founded. Aunt Amelia was surprised 
to find that Marian knew no better than to 
trouble Miss Smith as she had. She might 
have known that Uncle George would not 
approve of her going to a city the size of 
Chicago to pass the holidays with strangers. 
Miss Smith, Dolly and Florence were indig- 
nant. Even Janey did some unselfish sput- 
tering. 

“ Anything’s better than going home,” Ma- 
rian reasoned at last, “ and what’s the use of 
crying about what you can’t help. I ought 
to be glad it isn’t June.” 

As a matter of fact, the holidays passed 
pleasantly for Marian in the big deserted 
house. The matron and the teachers who 
were left did everything in their power to 
please the child, and on Christmas Day the 


FLOEENCE WESTON’S MOTHEE 239 

postman left her more gifts than she had ever 
received before. There were no potatoes in 
her stocking that year. During the holidays, 
Marian kept the photograph of her own mother 
beside the miniatures, and as the days went 
by she became convinced that her mother 
and Florence Weston’s mother looked much 
alike. 

“ My mother is prettier,” she said aloud the 
last day of the old year, “ but she is dead and 
as long as I live I never can see her. Per- 
haps I may see this other mother and perhaps 
she may love me. I shall have to put my 
picture away because it will get faded and 
spoiled, and I think I will pretend that 
Florence Weston’s mother is my mother. 
Then I won’t feel so lonesome. I never 
thought of pretending to have a 'mother be- 
fore.” 

When Florence returned after the holidays, 
she was unable to account for the change in 
Marian. The child was radiantly happy. 
Tears no longer filled her eyes when she 
gazed too intently upon the miniatures. In- 
stead, she smiled back at the faces and some- 


240 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


times waved her hand to them when she left 
the room. How could Florence dream that 
Marian had taken the little brothers, the sis- 
ter and the mother for her own. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 

June sent her messengers early. Every 
blade of grass that pushed its way through 
the brown earth, every bursting lilac bud or 
ambitious maple, spoke to Marian of June. 
Returning birds warbled the story and the 
world rejoiced. Teachers and pupils alike 
talked of June until it seemed to Marian that 
all nature and educational institutions had 
but one object, and that was to welcome June. 
She dreaded it. June meant Aunt Amelia 
and the end of all happiness. Yet Marian 
was only one. Ninety-nine other girls were 
looking eagerly forward to the close of school. 
They talked of it everywhere and at all 
hours. 

It was the one subject of conversation in 
which Marian had no share, one joy beyond 
her grasp. Try hard as she would, Marian 
couldn’t pretend to be glad she was going 
241 


242 


THE EAINBOW BRIDGE 


home. That was a game for which she felt 
no enthusiasm. The mother, the little sister 
and the baby brothers in the golden frames 
would soon be gone, and gone forever. “ We’re 
all going back West just as soon as school 
closes,” Florence had told her. “ Next winter 
we will be home.” 

Nor was that all that Florence told Marian. 
She pictured the beautiful home in the West 
in the midst of her father’s broad lands. She 
described her room, all sunshine and comfort, 
and the great house echoing with music and 
laughter. She told Marian of the gardens and 
the stables, of the horses, ponies and many 
pets. She described the river and the hills 
and the mountain peaks beyond. Florence 
almost forgot the presence of her wide eyed 
roommate in telling of the holiday celebra- 
tions at home and of the wondrous glory of 
the annual Christmas tree. Best of all, Flor- 
ence spoke tenderly of her mother and her 
voice grew tender in speaking of the woman 
who never scolded but was always gentle and 
kind ; the beautiful mother with the bright, 
gold hair. Florence had so much to say about 


HOW MARIAN CROSSED TPIE BRIDGE 243 


the little sister, brother and the baby, that 
Marian felt as if she knew them all. 

Thus it was that Florence Weston was go- 
ing home and Marian Lee was returning to 
Aunt Amelia. Miss Smith understood all 
about it and it grieved her. She had seen 
Aunt Amelia and that was enough. She 
didn’t wonder that Marian’s eyes grew sad and 
wistful as the days lengthened. At last Miss 
Virginia Smith thought of a way to win smiles 
from Marian. The botany class had been of- 
fered a prize. A railroad president, interested 
in the school had promised ten dollars in gold 
to the member of the botany class who made 
the best herbarium. Marian might not win 
the prize, but it would give her pleasure to 
try. She would have something more agree- 
able to think of than Aunt Amelia. 

It was with some difficulty that Miss Smith 
obtained permission from the principal for 
Marian to enter the class, and but for the ex- 
perience in the country school, the objection 
that Marian was too young would have barred 
her out. Miss Smith was right. Marian was 
delighted and for hours at a time Aunt Amelia 


244 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


vanished from her thoughts. The members 
of the botany class were surprised that such a 
little girl learned hard lessons so easily, but 
Miss Smith only laughed. 

In the beginning when the spring flowers 
came and every wayside bloom suggested a 
specimen, fully half the class intended to win 
the prize, Marian among the number. One 
by one the contestants dropped out as the 
weeks passed, leaving Marian with perhaps 
half a dozen rivals. At that early day, Miss 
Virginia Smith, who had no favorites, rejoiced 
secretly in the belief that Marian would win 
the prize. The commonest weed became 
beautiful beneath her hands and the number 
of specimens she found on the school grounds 
alone, exceeded all previous records. There 
was never so much as a leaf carelessly pressed 
among Marian’s specimens. At last the child 
began to believe the prize would be hers and 
for the first time, going home lost its terrors. 

If she won the prize, Uncle George would 
be proud of her and she would be happy. 
Finally Marian wrote to her uncle, telling 
him of the glories of commencement week. 


HOW MAEIAH CEOSSED THE BEIDGE 245 

She was to recite “ The Witch’s Daughter ” at 
the entertainment, to take part in the operetta 
and to sing commencement morning with 
three other little girls. More than that, she 
was sure to win the prize, even her rivals ad- 
mitted it. “ Now Uncle George,” the letter 
proceeded, “ please be sure and come because 
I want somebody that is my relation to be 
here. Florence Weston says her father would 
come from Honolulu to see her win a prize, so 
please come. Uncle George, or maybe Florence 
will think nobody cares for me.” 

Marian was scarcely prepared to receive the 
answer that came to her letter from Aunt 
Amelia. Uncle George was too busy a man 
to take so long a journey for nothing. Aunt 
Amelia would come the day after commence- 
ment and pack Marian’s trunk. So far as 
winning the prize was concerned. Uncle George 
expected Marian to win a prize if one were 
offered. That was a small way to show her 
gratitude for all that had been done for her. 
The child lost the letter. Janey C. Hopkins 
found and read it. Before sunset every one 
of the ninety-nine knew the contents. When 


246 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


night settled down upon the school, one hun- 
dred girls were thinking of Aunt Amelia, one 
in tears, the ninety-nine with indignation. 

The following morning Marian replied to 
her aunt’s letter, begging to be allowed to go 
home with Dolly Russel and her mother, and 
assuring Aunt Amelia that she could pack her 
own trunk. Even that request was denied. 
Aunt Amelia would call for Marian the day 
after commencement and she wished to hear 
nothing further on the subject. She might 
have heard more had she not been beyond 
sound of the ninety-nine voices. Marian was 
too crushed for words. That is, she was 
crushed for a day. Her spirits revived as 
commencement week drew near and Miss 
Smith and the ninety-nine did so much to 
make her forget everything unpleasant. Ma- 
rian couldn’t understand why the girls were 
so kind nor why Janey C. Hopkins took a 
sudden interest in her happiness. The Sun- 
day before commencement Marian wore 
Janey’s prettiest gown to church. It was 
rather large for Marian but neither she nor 
Janey found that an objection. Miss Smith 


HOW MAEIAN CEOSSED THE BEIDGE 247 

approved and Sunday was a bright day for 
Aunt Amelia’s little niece. 

Monday, Dolly Russel’s mother came and 
thanks to her, Marian appeared in no more 
garments that had disgraced the hooks in her 
closet. She danced through the halls in the 
daintiest of Dolly’s belongings, and was happy 
as Mrs. Russel wished her to be. 

Every hour brought new guests and in 
the excitement of meeting nearly all the 
friends of the ninety-nine and being kissed 
and petted by ever so many mothers, Marian 
forgot Aunt Amelia. Tuesday evening at the 
entertainment she did her part well and was 
so enthusiastically applauded, her cheeks grew 
red as the sash she wore, and that is saying a 
great deal, as Dolly’s sash was a bright scarlet, 
the envy of the ninety- nine. 

Florence Weston’s father and mother were 
present at the entertainment, but Marian 
looked for them in vain. “ They saw you 
just the same,” Florence insisted when she 
and Marian were undressing that night, “ and 
mamma said if it hadn’t been so late she 
would have come up to our room to-night, 


248 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


but she thought they had better get back to 
the hotel and you and I must settle down as 
quickly as we can. I can hardly keep my eyes 
open.” Florence fell asleep with a smile 
upon her face. Marian’s pillow was wet with 
tears before she drifted into troubled dreams 
of Aunt Amelia. 

“ Isn’t it too bad ! ” exclaimed Florence the 
next morning. “ They are going to present 
the prize in the dining-room at breakfast and 
my father and mother won’t be up here until 
time for the exercises in the chapel. I wanted 
them to see you get the prize. I’m so disap- 
pointed. Never mind, though, you will see 
mamma all the afternoon, because she is going 
to pack my things. We leave to-morrow. I 
am going down-town with papa and mamma 
when we get through packing and stay all 
night. You will have the room all to your- 
self. What? are you crying, Marian ? Why, 
I’ll come back in the morning and see you 
before I go. I wouldn’t cry if I w'ere you ! ” 

It was easy enough for a girl who had every 
earthly blessing to talk cheerfully to a weary 
little pilgrim. 


HOW MAEIAN CEOSSED THE BEIDGE 249 

Marian experienced the bitterest moment 
of her life when the prize was presented in 
the dining-room. There were many fathers 
and mothers there, and other relatives of the 
ninety-nine who joined in cheering the little 
victor. Yet Marian wept and would not be 
comforted. Even Miss Smith had no influ- 
ence. In spite of the sympathetic arms that 
gathered her in, Marian felt utterly forsaken. 
She had won the prize, but what could it 
mean to a motherless, fatherless, almost 
homeless child ? After breakfast, Marian, slip- 
ping away from Miss Smith and the friendly 
strangers, sought a deserted music room on 
the fourth floor where she cried until her cour- 
age returned : until hope banished tears. Per- 
haps Uncle George would be pleased after all. 

“ Where have you been ? ” demanded Flor- 
ence when Marian returned to her room. “ I 
have hunted for you everywhere. What a 
little goose you were to cry in the dining- 
room. Why, your eyes are red yet.” 

The only answer was a laugh as Marian 
bathed her tear-stained face. 

” I want you to look pretty when mamma 


250 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


sees you,” continued Florence, “ so don’t you 
dare be silly again.” 

In spite of the warning, Marian was obliged 
to seek the obscurity of the fourth floor music 
room later in the day, before she thought of 
another refuge — Miss Smith’s room. The 
sight of so many happy girls with their moth- 
ers was more than she could endure and Miss 
Smith understood. Even the thought of 
seeing Florence Weston’s mother was a 
troubled one, for alas ! she couldn’t beg to go 
with the woman as she once did in the Little 
Pilgrims’ Home. 

When the child was sure that Florence and 
her mother were gone and while Miss Smith 
was busy in the office, she returned to her 
room. “ The trunks are here yet,” observed 
Marian, “ but may be they won’t send for 
them until morning,” and utterly worn out 
by the day’s excitement, the child threw her- 
self upon the bed and sobbed in an abandon- 
ment of grief. 

Half an hour later the door was opened by 
a woman who closed it softly when she saw 
Marian. “ Poor little dear,” she whispered, 


HOW MAEIAN CEOSSED THE BEIDGE 251 

and bending over the sleeping child, kissed 
her. Marian was dreaming of her mother. 

“ Poor little dear,” repeated the woman, and 
kissed her again. That kiss roused the child. 
Opening her eyes, she threw her arms around 
the woman’s neck, exclaiming wildly, 

“ My mother, oh, my mother ! ” 

“ But I am not your mother, dear,” re- 
monstrated the woman, trying to release her- 
self from the clinging arms. “ I am Florence 
Weston’s mother. I have come for her little 
satchel that we forgot. Cuddle down, dear, 
and go to sleep again.” 

At that, Marian seemed to realize her mis- 
take and cried so pitifully, Florence Weston’s 
mother took her in her arms and sitting in a 
low rocker held Marian and tried to quiet her. 

The door opened and Florence entered. 
“ Why mamma, what is the matter ? ” she be- 
gan, but without waiting for a reply, she was 
gone, returning in a moment with her father. 
“Now what is the matter with poor Marian ? ” 
she repeated. 

“ Nothing,” explained Marian, “ only every- 
thing.” 


252 


THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 


“ She thought I was her mother, Florence, 
the poor little girl ; there, there, dear, don’t 
cry. She was only half awake and she says I 
look like her mother’s picture.” 

“You do, you look just like the picture,” 
sobbed Marian. 

“ What picture ? ” asked the man ; “ this 
child is the image of brother. What picture, 
I say?” 

“ Oh, she means mamma’s miniature,” said 
Florence. 

“ I don’t mean the miniature,” Marian in- 
terrupted, “ I mean my own mother’s picture,” 
and the child, kneeling before her small trunk 
quickly found the photograph of her father 
and mother. “ There ! doesn’t she look like 
my mother ? ” 

There was a moment of breathless silence 
as Florence Weston’s father and mother gazed 
at the small card. The woman was the first 
to speak. 

“ Why, Richard Lee ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ That must be a photograph of you ! ” 

“ It is,” was the reply, “ it is a picture of 
me and of my dead wife, but the baby died too.” 


HOW MAEIAN CEOSSED THE BEIDGE 253 


“ Well, I didn’t die,” cried Marian. “ I was 
two months old when my father went away, 
and when my mother died, the folks wrote to 
the place where my father was the last time 
they knew anything about him, and I s’pose 
they told him I was dead, but I wasn’t, and 
that’s my mother. Uncle George knows 
it ” 

“ Uncle George, my brother George,” for a 
moment it was the man who seemed to be 
dreaming. Then a light broke over his face 
as he snatched Marian and said, “ Why, little 
girl, you are m}'^ child.” 

“ And my mother will be your mother,” 
Florence put in, “ so what are you and mamma 
crying about now ? ” 

“ Didn’t you ever hear,” said Marian, smil- 
ing through her tears, “ that sometimes folks 
cry for joy ? ” 

It was unnecessary for Aunt Amelia to take 
the long journey. Marian’s father telegraphed 
for Uncle George who arrived the next day 
with papers Marian knew nothing about, 
proving beyond question the identity of the 
child. 


254 THE EAINBOW BEIDGE 

The little girl couldn’t understand the silent 
greeting between the brothers, nor why Uncle 
George was so deeply affected when she talked 
of his kindness to her and the many happy 
days she thanked him for since he found her 
in the Little Pilgrims’ Home. Neither could 
she understand what her father meant when 
he spoke of a debt of gratitude too deep for 
words. 

Marian only knew that unpleasant memories 
slipped away like a dream when Uncle George 
left her with her father and mother : when he 
smiled and told her he was glad she was going 
home. 


THE LITTLE QUEEN 

By Eva Madden 

240 pp. Illustrated. Cloth^ $1.00 


About the little seven-year-old French wife of Richard II. 
the writer has woven one of the sweetest and happiest stories 
of its kind, presented in a peculiarly pleasing and interesting 
style . — Boston Herald. 

This is a very entertaining story, with a web of English and 
French history so carefully woven with a fictional background 
that the history is indelibly impressed on our minds before 
we are conscious that we have learned it . — Daily News. 

A winsome and royal child is the “ Little Queen” whose 
history is told in this story, embroidered, like some rich arras, 
with courtiers, and fair ladies, and pageants, and knights, and 
knightly deeds. Nor is the tale too long, but told with an 
art which never suffers it to become tedious, nor allows the 
interest to wane . — Milwaukee Free Press."*' 

This story is the brief, sad life of the child-wife of Richard II. 
of England and will do much toward awakening interest in and 
impressing on the minds of young people the troublous times 
in which this little French maid’s lot was cast, and in which 
she so faithfully and fearlessly took her part. — The Record. 

Miss Madden tells the pathetic story of this little French 
princess most charmingly, and, while she does not confine 
herself exclusively to history, historical facts form the foun- 
dation on which the attractive story is built. It is thoroughly 
interesting, and will please little people, as well as boys and 
girls of older years. — Herald. 


Ten 

Little Indians 


AND 

Ten 

Big Indians 

EACH VOLUME IS FULLY ILLUSTRATED BY 

TEN FULL PAGE PICTURES AND CON- 
TAINS ABOUT 250 PAGES 


Price^ $1,00 each 


These companion volumes are made up of stories for 
children and are adapted for readers of the fourth and 
fifth grades. They are used not only in the home and 
public library but are also found in the schoolroom, for 
they give their readers not only valuable and interesting 
information, but also make the Indian real and human. 

The author has striven to show in these stories the 
lives of some of the most important Indians, both when 
they were children and after they had grown up and 
become the heads of their tribes. 

The characters selected are representative of ten of 
the most important tribes which have contributed to the 
history of our country, and in their individual ways these 
characters are representative of the different qualities of 
the red men, as well as of the different periods of 
American History. 

Much of the history of these people which is worth 
remembering is fast passing into the realm of myth, or is 
already lost to the world. 




WINIFRED WEST 

A Story by Blanche M. Channing 
With Illustrations by Chase Emerson 
Cloth, 371 Pages. Price, $1.00 



“‘Winifred West’ is a thoroughly natural story 
of a modern girl. True to life, carefully written, and 
abounding in bright incidents, it makes a story well 
worth the reading.” — New York Times. 

“ The advantages which open up to the young heroine 
of this story and the manner in which her talents de- 
velop make the burden of a wholesome and happily 
told story.” — Outlook. 

“A charming story for girls, in which the young hero- 
ine teaches, by her pure and simple living, many beau- 
tiful lessons of a wholesome and illuminating kind for 
young people.” — Pittsburg Chronicle. 

“ ‘Winifred West’ is a simple story, simply told, 
with little romance, but with those happy touches of 
homely reality that are sure to win young people’s 
sympathy.” — The Churchman. 

“A happy story of a young girl and her ambitions 
is embodied in ‘Winifred West.’ The daughter of a 
country doctor, she develops unusual musical talent 
and is sent to Boston to study her favorite instrument, 
the violin. Her hard work, bright disposition, and 
tender love for the old home make a pleasing and 
healthful story.” — Minneapolis Tribune. 

“ ‘ Winifred West ’ is a particularly good book for 
girls. It is far from being a tale of thrilling adven- 
ture; on the contrary , its scenes are of the quiet, every- 
day sort that come within the experience of most girls, 
for the author invests them with the charm in the tell- 
ing that is irresistibly winning by her sympathetic 
treatment and the atmosphere of home life that makes 
every event illuminous. There are glimpses of three 
widely different homes in which the young heroine 
finds entertainment in her progress toward a profes- 
sional career, each depicted with kindly hand and 
skilful touch.” — The Era. 









